Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gosh, I'm tired. I'm so fucking tired of all the bullshit that's been happening to me lately. Every new day is practically the same as the previous one: I wake up, train, race, fall asleep. Sometimes parties are added, but not as often, and I'm not as interested in them as I once was. And, of course, sometimes there are times for shooting content for the team's channel on the famous video hosting. Yeap, my days are so damn interesting.

It's already the middle of the racing season, and I have a little more than fifty points, and podiums can be counted on the fingers of one hand. And this is almost half of the season. Charles, what's wrong with you? When your life took a bad turn? I don't stop asking myself this question every time I see my reflection in the mirror in my bathroom.

It's probably the only place I can open up to myself. Maybe the bathroom is the place where I can be alone with myself and not be afraid of someone else's judgment, because it's just me and you, Charles in the reflection.

Why are all my aspirations nipped in the bud, and for my criticism of mistakes in the strategy of my own team, which then lead to complete failures at the races, I then have to apologize? Why do I take the rap for other people's mistakes? Where did I mess up so much in my previous life that I am being punished so much in this one? It's unfair. It's crazy. I hate it.

And I also hate one arrogant Dutchman. A flying fucking Dutchman. I hate that he's so lucky. I hate that he drives the fastest car. Not only that, but I hate that I have to listen to his country's anthem every weekend. By the way, many people even laugh at this on the Internet.

As well as about the statement that "No one cries sitting in a Ferrari." Who would have thought that in a modern "Ferrari" people don't cry. In a modern "Ferrari" all the hopes and dreams of their pilots for the world championship are slowly but surely dying. Why? The devil knows why. And I'm too tired to try to fix everything, to be a so-called "pusher", as if I alone care about the prestige of the team. I got stuck in this team only because I promised to become their champion. But now it seems that I have fallen into a trap and I just can't find any way out of it. So, Charles, suck it up and relax. Now my motto in life is: "Depression is my profession".

Thinking about positive things again before going to bed, right? "Think about the good, and then everything will get better in your life." Isn't that what my therapist told me? And I'm paying a lot of money for a middle-aged man with a diploma from some famous school of psychology to sell me this delusional mantra every session. I pretend to believe in the "healing power of autosuggestion," but my common sense tells me otherwise. But suck it up, Charlie, and just smile and wave.

Yes, I'm seeing a therapist. However, no one knows about it. No one needs to know about this either. I don't want all this hype in the press about how the famous racer decided to visit a doctor so that one day he wouldn't lose his mind from constant failures. And I feel calmer when everyone considers me a "depressed Monegasque" because of the results at the races, and not a "depressed Leclerc" because of all the chaos that is happening inside of me. Huh, like there's a difference.

Speaking of this Dutchman. We have been rivals since our childhood, it just so happened, but for some reason I can only talk to him and Pierre and without feeling myself like a total wreck. Pierre is my best friend, so everything is clear here. But Max? I hate him just as much as he hates me, we even talked about it more than once in interviews. But then why am I pleased to be near him or just shut up and listen as he speaks about the race that just ended? It's as if I wasn't there, and I didn't see everything with my own eyes. But I still listen to him and...I really like it? Or maybe because I like Max? And that's why I'm ready to listen to his famous "maxplaining" for hours. How do I even know this word? It's time to stop using the Internet, it won't do any good. At least for me.

After fifteen minutes of talking with my own reflection in the mirror, I finally washed my face and wandered into the bedroom. I want to go to bed ASAP and finish the day. Or I don't want to?

What does Charles want anyway? Again, thoughts decided not to let me fall asleep, but not this time: the good old sleeping pills sometimes really are the only savior in situations like this, I mean when you just want to close your eyes and not think about anything. Or anyone. At least for one night.

I lay in my bed and swallow a sleeping pill like I used to do it from time to time. Tomorrow is a day off, so you don't have to set an alarm clock and worry that I might be late somewhere. I try to lie down as comfortably as possible, although it can be very difficult to find a comfy pose right away, if it's possible at all, so I just close my eyes.

So, good night, Charles. And have a rest already.

Chapter Text

I can't believe that today has finally come to an end. It wasn't a bad day, but those days are sometimes even more exhausting than those when nothing happens. I want to take a hot shower to let my body relax, and then go to bed and fall into a long, deep sleep.

I open the door and enter my apartment. Fuck, I love silence, although many may not believe it. Although, what do I care about what other people might think of me? I'm the so-called "Super Max". Some people think I'm an incredible racer, who's breaking records one by one, who has an ideal relationship, and has a perfect life in general, so that's a shame to complain about anything at all; and some think that I'm an arrogant and boorish jerk who has no place on the track at all. If I said that I care what people think of me, it would be a lie. Very few people know the real me, if at all. By the way, I'm starting to doubt this more and more, because my fame is ahead of me, which is the basis for judging me. But like I said before – I don't care.

I took all my clothes off and finally stood under the hot jets of water. It relaxes me both physically and mentally. It's funny that thinking about life is best done while taking a shower. I guess that I can say that my bathroom is the only place where I can be alone with myself. It may sound crazy, but it's true.

And now I'm twenty-five. I am a world champion. Twice. I break records one by one, and that pisses many people off. I am in a relationship that cannot be called anything else than "contractual". With every race I win, and I mean literally with every race I'm in, I significantly raise the rating of my team. Oh yeah, and I earn money faster than I get to spend it. Am I wrong or that's exactly what people call "picture perfect"?

Everything seems to be fine, but I highly doubt that there are at least few people who can understand that behind that so-called "perfection" there's actually a young man hiding. A young man whose psyche has been completely destroyed by his own father since childhood. Father. The one, who was supposed to help, protect and support me, and not to humiliate, offend and punish for the slightest mistakes or failures.

But if I try to think about myself...what am I really like? Am I aggressive? Boorish? Brazen? Cheeky? Cocky? With age, everyone develops their own defense mechanism. Apparently, my developed like this.

But the funny thing is that I can show these qualities to absolutely everyone except him. Except for the damn racer, with whom we have been competing since childhood. The one with whom it all started with "just an inchident in the race". For some reason, he acts on me like catnip on a cat - it's nice, cozy, comfortable to be near him. Not like with anyone else. And when he's having a bad day, I feel bad too, even though I don't show it. What do people call it on the Internet? Enemies to friends? And why does it annoy me when someone interrupts us during our conversation? Thirdwheeling at its best. He is always ready to listen to my stories and impressions about the race that has just ended, even though he participated in it himself. And seeing how he listens to me, I can clearly see that he really hears me, and not just pretends to do it. He's really interested. Probably, only he listens to me like that.

And I like it. I like that we can just stand and chat about even the most stupidest things and both get pleasure from it. In the interview, of course, we will say that we discussed races, but in fact our conversations could not be about them at all. But who cares? We're racers. We're always talking about racing. Although no, I'll say that we should talk only about racing. Our conversations are even called "maxplaining & leclarification". These words are kinda funny, but I like them. Maybe it's because I like Charles himself? Well, as a person, of course. Well, or as a friend. I wonder if he considers me as his friend?

I got too carried away with my thoughts. Turning off the water, I finally get out of the shower, wrap a towel around my hips and leave the bathroom, changed into pajamas pants and go to bed, which of I dreamed about since morning. Chronic fatigue and a hot shower take their toll and, without barely noticing it, I fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Life goes on, and now it's time for the Austrian Grand Prix. By the way, I should mention that both - I and my teammate Carlos Sainz were very successful in qualifying this time: I came second, he came third. First, of course, was Max Emilian Verstappen. Who else it could be? The fact that all the qualifiers, and even the races, end with the victory of the Flying Dutchman does not surprise anyone anymore. Sometimes it seems to me that he himself is no longer surprised by his own results. Maybe he doesn't enjoy his victories at all anymore. Maybe he's already bored with it. But how do I know?

Preparations for the race have already been completed, all the drivers have already changed into their race suits and put on their helmets. Honestly, without knowing the numbers and colors of each other's helmets, it was quite difficult to make out who is who. No, of course, there are also some that you can recognize out of a thousand – Esteban, George, Alex and Nico stand out from the rest with their height. And there's Yuki – but it's hard to notice him, because he seems like a schoolboy among us. Small, but terribly fast and friendly guy.

I pulled on my helmet and gloves and got into my race car. Number 16. Why exactly 16? I have no idea why I chose this particular number back then. I wanted 7, but Kimi Raikkonen already took it, so I chose 16. By the way, a fun fact is that Max is exactly 16 days older than me. He was even ahead of me in terms of age. It looks like I'll always be the second number after Verstappen.

While I was thinking about all the above, the mechanics rechecked my car – all its systems, all its sensors, all its cogs. I hope that today these checks will bring any good results. A couple of minutes before the start, I, like the other drivers, had already left for the track to take my places on the starting grid. I'm starting from second position and I already know that this race is definitely not going to be an easy one – Verstappen is in front of me, Sainz is behind me. Both are strong competitors. Both won't let me overtake them. Both want to win. But let's be honest, everyone wants to win, but only the first three will be able to get the coveted trophy – only three drivers will get their place on the podium.

After making a warm up lap for both the tires and the car itself, all the drivers took their places on the starting grid. We're at our positions, the engines are roaring and we're ready to rush into battle. I glanced in the direction of my main rival – he's focused, but he doesn't even seem tense. His hands are gripping the steering wheel tightly, and his eyes are fixed straight on the track. I stared at the Dutchman and I think he felt me staring at him, because he turned his head in my direction and nodded, like he's greeting me. Sure enough, I nodded back and immediately shifted my gaze from him to the track in front of me.

And now the red lights above the starting lane go out in turn and... "Lights Out And Away We Go"! I put my foot down on the gas pedal, but the "Red Bull" car was still faster and, as a matter of course, took the lead. Straight, turn, straight, turn, attempt to overtake Verstappen's car, yellow flag. Someone from the "AlphaTauri" was washed up on the gravel, but I didn't know who exactly it was. But that's not what I'm focused on now. My goal is a blue car with a bright number 1 in front.

The race is well underway, although it's hardly a race. It's more like a fight where you can't think about anyone but yourself: opponents, as well as teammates try to overtake each other. One car left the track due to technical problems. The radio said that there was a problem with "HAAS" car - Hulkenberg's car was down. It sucks, I know for myself, but this is life, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Meanwhile, I'm still trying to fight the Flying Dutchman in front. We're like playing a cat-and-mouse game: it's like he's deliberately letting me outrun him, but at the last moment he changes his mind and rushes forward. I almost manage to get ahead of him on the corners, but as soon as the corner turns into a straight line, I'm behind again. Damn you!

Having slightly increased the gap between our cars, Max decides to go for a pit stop. This is my opportunity. Yes, their pit stop is much faster than ours, but this opportunity cannot be missed. And as soon as I see Verstappen coming into the pitlane, I put so much pressure on the gas pedal that I think I'll either break the bottom of the car or break my leg. I'll be honest: I wouldn't regret either the first or second option if it will bring me victory in this Grand Prix.

And yes! I manage to break out to the first position in the race! I'm happy, but I know perfectly well that it will be almost impossible to hold this position, because Max will not give up to me, but I will not give up without a fight. The Dutchman left the pitlane and immediately got back into the game with me. It was like he was taking a break for a few seconds to play catch-up with me with renewed vigor. My car swerves, trying not to let him overtake me. There are more risky corners where he could have easily overtaken me, but he doesn't. What's the matter, Verstappen?

After holding my first position for a couple of laps, I realize that my nerves are already starting to give out – there is too much tension between us. Wait, between him and me? Between Max and me? No, of course not. It even sounds too weird. Damn it, Charles, what are you thinking? Keep your eyes on the track, put your hands on the steering wheel and push the fucking pedal!

I even manage to stay in the lead for a while, but apparently Max decided it was time to end this game and took the lead again. I turned my head to the side for a second and saw a dark blue car with red bulls whizzing by. Fucking hell!

And now the seventy-first, also known as the final lap is already ending. Max finished first, I finished second, and Checo, also driver from "Red Bull" team finished third. Well, the second podium in six months – this is something to be happy about, because the result is good, taking into account all the problems and results of previous races.

I parked my race car, got out of it, took off my helmet, and Max immediately came up to me. We had a quick word and a handshake, and I gave him the usual wink and he smiled. Am I wrong or maybe kinda delusional, but is it just me he smiles at? And I fucking love it. I love that only I can make this stern Dutchman smile like that. All right, Charles, you've got to get your head straight, or you're already thinking in the wrong direction. He's your rival.

After giving a couple of short interviews and giving a post-race commentary, I, like the other drivers, went to change clothes before the award ceremony. After a short time I left my room and went to the stand where the photographers would soon be waiting for us. Max was already there, as if waiting for someone. Was he waiting for...me? No, that's nonsense.

Verstappen saw me and smiled just like he smiled near my the car a few minutes ago. We began to chat, or rather he talked, and I listened to him. I don't know why, but I like to listen to his stories and watch him actively gesticulate with his hands, which recently were gripping the steering wheel of his car. Maybe I just like listening to his voice? Or maybe I'm just too tired to actively participate in the conversation and be a listener is a more convenient position for me right now? I listen to him carefully, sometimes adding my own phrases, to which Max smiles and nods. Does he likes when I'm listening to him? Charles, you've been thinking about this Dutchman too often. You. Need. To. Fucking. Stop.

After a while, photographers came up to the stand, and with them was a Mexican, who is also Verstappen's teammate – Checo. The photographers invited the three of us to take a photo. We stood up: Max is in the center, I'm on the right side, and Checo is on the left. I put my arm around Max, and he put his arm around me as usual, but he hugged me tighter than usual. I don't know why, but it made me feel so good and warm. Hell, I love the way he hugs me. I didn't realized, but I was smiling like a fool. I can imagine how dumb I'll look on those photos.

After taking a couple of pictures, the photographers began to slowly disperse and go to the podium. Max was saying something to Checo, but he didn't take his hand off of my back. And I didn't take my hand away too. Shaking my head as if I was coming back to normal, I took my hand away, and Max, as if waiting for my signal, also took his. We exchanged a smile and made our way to the podium.

An award ceremony, an anthem that I will soon know even better than my country's anthem, a champagne fountain. Even though I won second place, but damn it, I'm happy about it! Finally, after so many failures, I finally could consider myself as a successful driver! Yes, it's not the first place, but I don't even mad about losing to Max.

After all this award ceremony, all the drivers went to their teams: some teams went somewhere to celebrate the victory, some immediately starts preparing for the next grand Prix, some just decided to rest. I belong to the third type: I need rest. For some reason, this race was particularly exhausting for me, so after finishing all my business with the team, I said goodbye to everyone, got into my "Ferrari" and went to the hotel.

When I arrived at my destination point, I gave my car keys to the valet and went to my room. I took the elevator and found my room pretty quickly. As I stepped inside, I sighed heavily, as if I felt a terrible sense of weariness descend on me. After standing with my back to the door for a while, I lazily made my way to the bathroom to take a quick shower and get into bed. I want to pass out ASAP, so that I can rest my mind as much as my body.

After showering and changing, I went to bed, took my usual sleeping pills, and closed my eyes, waiting for the magic pills to take effect. Damn, I've been getting tired lately. I get tired of thinking about myself, my life, my career. The only thing I don't get tired of is thinking about a certain Dutchman. Hell, I'm still thinking about him. What did he do on the track today? What kind of catch-up games we were playing? And why did he hugged me like that afterwards? And why do I like all this? And why would I want him to put his strong arms around me now? Somehow, I'm sure that that's the only way that I would be able to finally relax. Maybe I'm too tired and that's why such thoughts are coming to my head? But I'm not afraid of them. And I'm not disgusted. Maybe, Max attracts me not only as an old rival? Maybe there's more to it than that.

Thoughts of the Dutchman swarmed through my head, and without realizing it, I finally felt the effects of the sleeping pills and fell asleep.

Chapter Text

And now it's time for another Grand Prix, this time an Austrian one. First place again. I'm already starting to lose all that pleasant taste of winning. I'm already getting tired of winning all the time, which I mentioned in an interview once, and then got scolded from the team's office. Well, what can I do if that's the case? Judging by what cars other teams have, I can't even say that I have any worthy opponents. Yes, there are many talented drivers among us, but their cars don't allow them to reach their full potential. Well, or maybe it's not the car's fault, but strategists? Strategists persist in dragging at least one team to the bottom. How can't they notice this? Or maybe they do notice, but they simply don't care? But how can you be such an asshole and be so indifferent about your own brainchild? I'll never understand that.

Even during the interview, I openly said that the red team literally torments its drivers - they openly ignore requests from drivers during the race, give completely meaningless improvements to cars that are completely meaningless and useless, and so on. Yes, when their own pilots criticize their actions, then their office literally makes the same pilots to apologize publicly later. But I'm not their pilot and everyone knows that I don't have a so-called "filter" and that's why I always say what I think. And I personally think that "Ferrari" are going to hell and dragging their talented drivers down with them, not allowing them to develop and strive for victories. The drivers ' desire to win is not enough – they need the support of the whole team, they need fast cars and really useful improvements, and this is exactly what the reds don't give to their drivers.

After the race, my entire team went to an elite club to celebrate, and I put it down to terrible fatigue and went to the hotel to relax. To be honest, I wasn't lying – I was exhausted, both physically and mentally.

When I got to the hotel and found my room, I swiped the key card and opened the door. I wonder which of the pilots has already returned to the hotel? Or did everyone decide to relax after the race and hangout somewhere? As soon as I entered my room, I went straight to the table, where there was a bottle of expensive alcohol and a note waiting for me.

"Congrats! Another one well-deserved victory, son!"

"My son." Funny that Christian calls me that instead of my own father. He probably ordered this bottle while I was driving from race center to the hotel. It's nice that he appreciates me not only as a pilot, but also as a person. I'll have to remember to thank him for the gift later.

I sat down on the comfortable sofa, leaned my head back, and closed my eyes. It's so good to just sit down and not think about anything. Just pretend that my head is empty. Although I'm a liar, because that's not true - my head is full of thoughts right now. And all my thoughts are about one person - the pilot of the red team. I don't know what came over me today or why I did what I did on the track today. But I enjoyed "playing" with Charles, and I think he liked that too. I liked to give him a head start and then overtake him; give him a chance to pass me and then get ahead. This race seemed too short for me, because I wasn't racing – I was playing. Seventy-one laps passed too quickly, and I was even a little upset when I crossed the finish line for the last time.

But I was genuinely happy when I saw Monegasque cross it second. As soon as we got out of the cars, I went over to Charles and shook his hand, and he winked at me, and I couldn't help but smile. This is already some kind of tradition for us, well, or maybe it's just a reflex - call it whatever you want. Probably, he is the only person who can bring back to my "fast & easy" victory pleasant taste. I would even say something like: "I'll always be happy to win if I have Monegasque by my side". It sounds strange, but it's true. We've known each other far too long, and we've grown like attached to each other. I don't know if I can say that there is a connection between us or not, but there is definitely something going on.

After the race, I changed my clothes and went to the photo stand. I got there before everyone else and waited for the other two pilots to come. But honestly, I went there to wait for Charles, to spend some time with him and talk about anything. And there he is. Was it just my imagination, or was he glad to find me alone here, too? Nevertheless, we started talking. Starting a conversation has never been a problem for us – I think he can understand what I want to say just by looking at me, just as I can understand it by looking at him. And I speak to him, and he listens, and he hears me. Damn, he actually hears me! I am immensely grateful to him for this. Sometimes he inserts his own phrases, but they're always are on point, thus our conversation only takes on greater momentum.

While we were talking, we didn't even notice that the photographers and my teammate, Checo Perez, had come up to the stand. We greeted him, then the photographers told us to stand in front of the photostand just to take a couple of photos of the winners. I used to hug my partner with one arm, and the Monegasque with the other, but for some reason I hugged the other more tightly, thereby pressing him to my side. Charles hugged me back, but he did it more carefully than I did. That's fine with me. I like when he's so close to me. After taking a few photos, the photographers went to the podium, where the award ceremony was about to begin, and I exchanged a few more words with Checo, but...I didn't take my hand off Leclerc's waist. And he didn't put his own hand away too. Just knowing that makes me smile. I'm glad as hell that he doesn't mind me hugging him like that. I wonder if he even realized I didn't do it by accident.

I only took my hand away when he took his. Then we went to the podium, where, in fact, the entire award ceremony took place. Everything was strictly according to the rules: a congratulatory speech, then an award ceremony, the national anthem of the race winner and champagne fountains. After all this festive part, we went to our teams to continue celebrating with them, or with all the teams together – that's how our companies decides.

Still, I'm glad I went to a hotel instead of a club. Relaxing in silence is much more pleasant and useful than hanging out with a sea of alcohol and loud music, the consequences of which will remind you of yourself in the morning. Yeap, I fucking hate hangovers, that's why I'm here – at my hotel room. And I'm not really in the mood for celebrating. Did Charles go to the club, or did he go back to the hotel? Or maybe he found another way to rest? I was curious to find out, so I got up and decided to go to the front desk to ask which other pilots were currently in the hotel.

Going down to the lower floor of the hotel, I went to the front desk, where a friendly girl of about 25 years old with a "duty smile" kindly offered her help. I asked her about the pilots, she made a couple of clicks on her computer and said that there were only three pilots in the hotel right now - me, Albon, and Leclerc. The last name was like a balm to my heart. For some reason, I was awfully glad that Monegasque was back at the hotel, and not going to hang out somewhere else. Or with someone else. Damn, am I jealous?

I shook my head and thanked the girl, then headed for the elevator. Room "403". This I managed to see on the admin screen, and in fact, that's where I went. When I reached the desired floor and reached the door, I raised my hand to knock, but stopped. Why am I here? What should I tell him? What if he was tired and wanted to rest, and I'll disturb him with my visit? Maybe it's a bad idea.

I stood at the door of Monegasque's room for a while and didn't dare to knock. I then just turned around and walked towards the same elevator to go up to my floor and return to my own room.

When I got to my room, I laughed softly. And what was it? Why did I go to the front desk and find out about Charles's room in the first place? I think I'm starting to slowly to go crazy. I rubbed my face, then undressed as I walked toward the bathroom. After a quick shower, I pulled on my pajama pants and got into bed. For some reason, this day was too tiring for me. Yeap, that sounds kind of sad.

After trying to find a comfortable pose to sleep, I felt very tired and soon fell asleep.

Chapter Text

The morning didn't start with a nasty alarm, which means that I can assume that the day started quite well. After lying in bed for a while, because I can afford it today, I got up and sat on the side of the bed. No, I'm not one of those people who reaches for phone right after they open their eyes: I give more priority to coffee.

After completely waking up from sleep, I went to the kitchen and made myself a cup of coffee. Then there was the usual morning routine: shower, breakfast for one, and then it's time to check notifications on my phone.

I picked up my phone and saw a whole bunch of notifications from various social networks and applications, but only one caught my eye immediately: "New message from Tripod." What the hell did he need from me on my day off? It's kinda strange, because we rarely communicate on weekends - we both have "busy schedules" and blah-blah-blah. So without even thinking about should I open his message or no, I just pressed on that notification and opened Pierre's message.

Tripod:

"I'm having a party for all the drivers tonight. And I won't accept any excuses. We'll have a comfy party with guys from the grid. So stop being a fucking miserable jerk and get your ass over here tonight."

A party? What is this about? But come on. Maybe he's right and it would be nice for me to go there and have some fun with guys? Well, I guess that it won't be that bad for me. At least I hope so. And he also wrote that the party is for all the drivers from the grid, which means that Max freaking Verstappen will also be there. As far as I know, he doesn't miss parties. Unlike me. We're like complete opposites of each other. But today I can't help but come to that party, because Pierre is my best friend, and I definitely don't want to let my best friend down.

The day passed quite calmly: since I didn't have much to do, I decided to spent this whole day at home. While doing all sorts of nonsense, like playing games on my own and reading different articles, I didn't even notice that the evening was already approaching. I put on dark jeans, a dark T-shirt and a black jacket - nothing too chic, but simple and classy. It was already close to 9 pm, so I took the keys, got into my car and drove to a friend's house.

Arriving at the place, I entered Pierre's house and noticed that almost all the drivers had already gathered there. It's nice to know that I didn't arrive last and didn't disappoint anyone here. Well, at least I hope so. Can I count it like a little win for me? I barely entered the house, the host of the party came up to me:

"I knew you'd come after all. Were you scared of my tone on that message?"

"Of course, I've been shaking from fear all day"

We laughed a little and headed towards the bar. After ordering a drink from the bartender, Pierre and I started chatting about everything. Because we don't get to see each other so often outside of the track, so we decided to take this opportunity and chat like we used to do when we both were teenagers. It's nice to feel like an ordinary guy and chat so carelessly with a friend, without fear that paparazzi and reporters are about to fly up. Today I can give myself free rein and relax a little.

Pierre talks about his so far unsuccessful attempts to persuade Yuki to move to Monaco, because they have become good friends while working in the same team. Yuki is a cool guy, but his conversations on the radio during races are real work of art. And I totally agree with Pierre: if Yuki decides to move here that would be awesome. And, honestly, I think that there's something going on between my best friend and that japanese cutie-patootie.

But speaking of me, I told him about how my days pass by, although there isn't much to tell. Sometimes I visit my family, and also I visited my younger brother's races recently. But I didn't tell him anything about my problems, because I don't want to spoil his party with some crazy shit that is happening in my head.

While chatting with a friend, I periodically looked around the people at the party: George and Alex are chatting about something; Logan, Carlos, Yuki and Lando are playing beerpong; Nico is joking with Kevin and Esteban about stupid penalties at the last race, and Esteban is laughing because he broke his own "record for penalties." It's strange, but I didn't see any drivers from the "Red Bull" team: neither Checo, nor Max, nor even the brightest star of the parties - Daniel.

"Pierre, did you invite the guys from "Red Bull"?"

"Yes, they were among the first to arrive."

Pierre glanced around the crowd and nodded at Checo and Dan, who were sitting on the couch, deep in conversation with Lance and Fernando. Their convo even looks so damn funny: Dan is so actively gesturing and saying something, and the others listen to him and only occasionally insert their own phrases, after which they all burst out laughing. Not even knowing what it's about, but seeing Dan telling something, whether you want it or not, a smile appears on your lips. Yeap, he's a funny guy, anyway.

"Is Max here too? I haven't seen him yet."

"Yes, Max is...ehm...he was with them. I have no idea where that flying Dutchman is now."

We both looked around the people, but we didn't see the Dutchman among drivers. Meanwhile, I was finishing my second drink. Putting the glass on the bar, I looked at my friend, who was already looking at me with his piercing gaze. I just shook my head and ordered a third glass. Screw it, today is a day off, I can do whatever I want.

"Maybe he's already gone. Why do you care?"

My friend's question caught me off guard. But the truth is: why do I care where Max is? I hesitated for a moment, then gave Pierre a small nod.

"Nah, I was just wondering, because he...you know, he likes to party, but I haven't seen him yet and it's kinda strange."

"Oh yeah, sure, hun."

Am I wrong or there was a hint of sarcasm in Pierre's words? And what did he meant by that? Or maybe it's just the alcohol that's doing its job, and I'm already seeing conspiracy theories everywhere? Yeap, I bet that's the thing.

After exchanging a few more words with a friend and finishing another drink, I put the glass on the bar and headed towards the bathroom. For some reason, I really wanted to wash my face with a cold water just to cool off a little. I'm glad that I know Pierre's house like the back of my hand.

Entering the spacious guest bathroom, I immediately noticed Max standing at the sink and looking at himself in the mirror. He stood silently and seemed to be looking not at his reflection, but through it.

"Um, I didn't know the room was occupied, so..."

"No, I just wanted to freshen up a little."

Max nodded and smiled the way he always does when he sees me on the podium next to him, and I almost winked back at him. Force of habit, what can I do?

"Actually, that's what I came here for, too."

Max gestured to the second sink next to him. Hell, even here I'm second. Irony at it's best.

I closed the door behind me and went to the second sink. Max didn't seem to move. I turned on the water, filled my palms with cold water, and washed my face with it. Damn, it's nice to feel cold water on my skin especially in such a hot time. Or maybe I'm the only one who's feeling hot?

I looked up at my reflection and caught a glimpse of Max's reflection. Damn, he's been looking at me all this time! What the fuck? Yes, I flinched a little in surprise, which made the Dutchman laugh softly.

"Am I that ugly?"

Verstappen, laughing softly, said those words, but a little too sadly. And what should I say to that? "No, you're cute"? "You're looking good for a sloth from an "Ice Age" cartoon?" "Say that again and I'll punch you in your pretty face"? Yes, Charles, bravo, the best thing to do now is to threaten to punch someone. Well, not someone. Him. Max fucking Verstappen. Yes, Charles, that's how you need to behave right now - show him your assholish side.

"No, why'd you ask?"

"You were scared of me."

"Well, I don't get much attention from drunk guys, you know."

"Such a shame. But you know - now you're drunk as well."

Now we both laughed. Yes, I definitely can't argue with such a strong argument.

"But why you're here alone?"

"Why aren't you with everyone?"

It seems that this question made Max think. He slowly lowered his head and shrugged, then looked at me again, but not through the mirror.

"I've always been alone, you know."

That's true. Only not "alone", but "distanced from others by a fucking father". His father always kept him away from his peers. He believed that friends could harm his son's career, and that's the reason why he can't make friends in this sport. An idiotic rule from a typical narcissist and tyrant dad.

"It was back then, in childhood, but now you are no longer a child."

"You're right. But the habit remained."

"Okay, okay, you're right"

I shrugged and wiped my wet hands with napkins. I straightened my clothes and was about to turn around to leave, but Max suddenly spoke again.

"Have you ever done something that you would probably regret later? But if you didn't do that, you would regret about that even more?"

I looked at Max and I couldn't understand what he was taking about or what he's going to do. What's the weird question? How much did he drink? Did he ask a lot of people that? Why am I even interested in this?

"It's hard to say. I doubt so."

Was it my imagination, or was he... grinning? Max, what kind of game are you playing? After pausing a bit, as if gathering his thoughts, he also turned to face me and looked at me with a glimpse of interest.

"Are we enemies?"

"Rivals, to be more precise."

"Rivals."

He nodded as if to confirm his own words. Damn, he's still looking at me, and I feel like an animal in a trap while just standing here right in front of him. But I'm not terrified, I'm terribly interested in what he's gonna do next. He took a step towards me, and I instinctively stepped back and hit my back against the wall.

"You've been drinking. So am I. That means that we're both drunk. Am I right?"

"Max, are you okay?"

It was as if he wanted to say something, but instead he just took a deep breath, as if deciding on telling me something, put his palms on my cheeks and pressed his lips against mine. I didn't even have time to come to my senses. What is he doing?! What the hell?! And why am I kissing him as well?! Why do I...I like to kiss this arrogant jerk? But before I could even realize what is going on, he abruptly pulled away and was about to take a step towards the bathroom door. Without thinking twice, I grabbed his hand and pulled him back to me, kissing him again, and that took him by surprise. I put my arms around his shoulders, and he wrapped his arms around my waist. It was so strange, but it felt so good to kiss him. But if it's bad, why then it feels so good? Perhaps the alcohol hit us both in the head.

We kissed and bit each other's lips. At some point, I felt a salty taste of blood in my mouth: Max bit my lip, but even this did not cause the kiss to break. A bloody kiss. Yes, that's exactly how rivals should kiss. Especially, when they both are young men. While kissing, I noticed that Max was smiling, and I couldn't help and smiled back. This is strange. It's scary how strange it is, but it feels so right. And that makes it even scarier.

I don't know how long it would have lasted if we hadn't been distracted by the sudden slam of the door. We abruptly jumped away from each other and stared at the door in confusion. Who was it? Who saw us? What will happen now? Why when you think that everything's gonna be fine, some bullshit happens and everything goes straight to hell?

I looked at Max. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and at first, somehow confused, and then somewhat smugly smiled, licking his lower lip with traces of blood on it. Traces of my blood. Damn. He looks hot. Fuck! Charles! Why do you think that he's hot right now?!

"Well, we're drunk. Who knows what may happen when you're drunk, right?"

After saying that, Max grinned and left the bathroom. He looked so calm. What was that all about? Charles, congratulations, you're going nuts.

After washing my face with cold water again and somehow putting my thoughts in order, I left the bathroom. It wasn't so difficult to find Pierre in the crowd, so I quickly said goodbye to him and said I was going home. I told him that I'm feeling a little bit sick because I drank booze on an empty stomach. I doubt he believed me, but I don't really care right now and I really have to go home.

Because of all the thoughts, I didn't even notice how I got home. I don't even want to think about anything right now. What the hell was that? Was it really because of alcohol? But I haven't had that much booze. But how much did Max drink? And did he drink at all? So many questions without answers.

Somehow getting home, I went inside my house and slammed the door behind me. Damn, why am I breathing like I've run a marathon? I put my hand on my chest and felt my heart pounding wildly. What the hell is going on with me?

When I reached the kitchen, I took a glass of water and drank at a draught. After trying to bring my breathing back to normal, or at least calm down a little, I immediately undress and go to bed. I'll take a shower in the morning, otherwise it will keep me awake, but all I want now is to fall asleep ASAP, before my thoughts take over my consciousness again.

Chapter Text

Today is a day off, so I woke up later than usual, because there is no need to rush anywhere and I can spend this whole day at home. A normal day off that I can spend however I want and do whatever I want. Isn't that perfect?

The first thing I do when I wake up is reach for my phone to check the notifications. What if there's something important happened and I didn't know about it? Not that I'm interested in any kind of news, but I don't really want to be a black sheep, either.

The screen showed tons of notifications from various apps, some spam in the mail and in messages, but the message from Pierre Gasly was the one that actually surprised me. What the fuck did he want from me? Out of curiosity, I opened his message.

Pierre Gasly:

"I'm having a party tonight. It's only for guys from the grid. It'll be fun. So yeah, drag your ass to my house tonight to have some fun."

Seriously? He invites me to a party, even though he once said I was "even more toxic than Fukushima." It's strange, because we've never been friends, even though we're not enemies either. To be honest, we're just two racers who don't really give a damn about each other. But he's Charles ' best friend. Does this mean that he is also invited to the party? If so, I have to go. Yeap, I HAVE TO GO. I want to talk to him. It doesn't matter about what. Or do I just want to be around him? No, I just like being listened to and heard, and only he can do both. Yeap, that's right.

But before making my final decision about the party, I decided to write to my friend Daniel Ricciardo first to see if he was invited as well.

Me:

"Did Gasly invite you to the party?"

Honey badger:

"Good morning to you too, Verstoppen. Yeap, I was invited. Do you even remember a single party without me?"

Me:

"Shall we go together? I don't wanna drive today."

Honey badger:

"No problem. So, today I'm your driver, and you're gonna be my drunk customer:D"

He can be a jerk sometimes, but that's exactly why I love him. Let's be honest - everyone loves him. And if someone doesn't like Danny Ricciardo, then they have a problem with their head.

After lying in bed for a while and scrolling through the news feed, I got up and did my usual things: a shower, breakfast, spent some time in front of the TV just because I had nothing else to do, then lunch, a couple of small chores around the house, rest again, and now it's time to leave for the party.

By the way, one of the pros of a "contract" relationship is that we are a "happy and beautiful couple" only in front of the cameras; in reality, we live in different houses. But to be honest, most of the time we even live nn different countries. And I like it: no one gets on my nerves, no scandals, no bouts of jealousy, no excuses about anything. When it comes time for important events, such as an important grand prix, an interview, where the whole family must be present, then we come together as a couple, but only for a while. And so I'll be honest: neither I have any interest in her, nor she has any interest in me. Everything is much simpler: she is completely satisfied with the status of the girl of the world champion, and I am completely satisfied with the fact that she does not interfere in my life and does not try to control me. I wanna feel free, because I was controlled my whole life and it sucks.

I glanced at my watch and saw that Dan would be arriving soon. I opened my closet and put on a gray shirt and a dark jeans. It's a party for drivers, then what's the point of dressing up in fancy clothes?

I've already finished with my clothes when I got a text from Dan.

Honey badger:

"Get your ass out on the street, or I'll demand money for waiting, like a decent taxi driver should."

I smiled and left the apartment a moment later. I went outside and walked straight to Dan's car, where he was waiting patiently, tapping the steering wheel to the rhythm of a radio tune. After getting into the car and buckling up, I greeted him with our usual handshake and we drove to the Frenchman's house.

"What was Gasly throwing the party for?"

"Max, there's always has to be a reason to have some fun?"

That's kinda logical question. You can't be serious all the time, it's exhausting both physically and mentally. So instead of answering, I just nodded.

"But everyone's going to be there, so you don't have to worry about the paparazzi and all that stuff. You can be yourself!"

Daniel seems to enjoy these parties the most. Well, yes, he likes to have fun, but who doesn't? And he's a fun guy, which is kind of an obvious and indisputable fact.

It didn't take long to get to Gaslys' house, or so it seemed to me, because when you have a ride in such pleasant company and with old songs being sung at the top of your lungs time runs almost unnoticed.

When we arrived, Dan parked his car and we went inside. We could hear the music as he approached the building itself, but this is a private sector, so he definitely doesn't have to worry about the neighbors' complaints.

We went inside and immediately ran into Perez. Dan, of course, couldn't resist teasing him about the latest qualifying results, but Sergio doesn't even take offense. What did he say: "Shit happens, the main thing is not to let yourself drown in it." And he's right.

The three of us went up to Pierre and greeted the host of the party. He briefly told us where and what is in his house, and told us to make us feel as at home. A classic phrase of the host of any home party.

We walked over to the bar, where Checo and Dan got drinks and went looking for a place to sit. They ended up sitting on the couch next to Stroll and Alonso, and Dan immediately joined in and began to talk a lot. How does he always manage to remain the soul of the company? Sometimes I even envy him. But in a good way obviously.

I ordered a drink from the bartender Gasly had hired and decided to stay at the bar for a while. I'll sit alone for a while, and then I'll row up to the others. By the way, I never noticed Charles among the guests. Did he even come?

I looked around at the crowd of people, but I didn't see the familiar Monegasque crown of the head. Should I go to Pierre and ask him directly? No, I'll better not. I returned to my drink and my thoughts about everything.

When I sipped about half of it, I noticed that Logan has walked over to the bar. He greeted me and ordered a beer from the bartender.

"Why are you sitting alone? Let's go and play some beerpong with us".

"No, thank you. I don't feel like playing games today".

The guy gave me a slightly skeptical look and nodded in understanding.

"To be honest, sometimes I envy you. But only sometimes".

It's a bit of a strange thing to hear, but now I'm even curious what he's talking about, so I asked him directly.

"Envy me? What do you mean by that?"

"You are a two-time world champion. You are both adored and hated. You're always the center of attention. And most importantly, you have an amazing career. Many of us can only dream of such a thing".

Logan nodded, as if confirming his words, and took a sip of his beer. To some extent, he is right. Although I myself understand that the life that I now have, many people really can only dream of. But if only he knew what it cost me.

"You know, sometimes I wanna be like invisible man. Stop being the center of attention, but to be an ordinary guy driving for fun. My life sucks in many ways, to be honest. So honestly, I think there's nothing you can envy me about".

Logan patted me on the shoulder, then turned to go back to his friends and their game.

"That's why I'm glad that many people know me only as a "guy who doesn't understand what a kilometer is", and not as a top driver".

After saying that, he left, and I thought about it. But it's true: the more invisible to others you are, the more peacefully you live. And in the races everything is exactly the same. So a lot of top drivers probably envy those who always trail at the end from time to time.

I finished my drink and ordered another one, but before I could start, I noticed among the guests the one I'd actually come here for. Charles Leclerc. I need to go up to him, greet him and have a small chat. Yes, I came here to chat with him. Damn it, Max, since when you developed such a strange need to be listened to? Or is that not the case?

While I was thinking about it, I didn't even notice that I downed the contents of my glass in one gulp. Alcohol is obviously expensive, as even such a quick sip did not burn the throat at all.

I decided to go to the bathroom and freshen up so I could later go over to the Monegasque and talk to him. And cold water will help me figure out what we can talk about. I put my empty glass down on the counter and walked toward the bathroom. Thanks to Galsy for telling me where exactly I can find that room.

Once in the bathroom, I went to the double sink and turned on the cold water. I filled my palms with water, washed my face and looked at my reflection. Here I am again - in the bathroom, looking at my reflection and feeling strange urge to speak to myself, but then...

"Um, I didn't know the room was occupied, so..."

"No, I just wanted to freshen up a little."

I nodded and smiled at him. People say that thoughts are material. And I'm starting to believe it. How else can I explain what I was thinking about Charles just a short time ago, and now he's come to a room where I'm all alone. Hm, was alone.

"Actually, that's what I came here for, too."

Also decided to freshen up? Was it too hot or had you already drank too much? Well, he certainly doesn't look like a drunk. Or maybe he wanted to talk to me too, and then he saw me coming here and followed me? No, don't be delusional.

I gestured to the empty sink next to me, he closed the door behind him before he went to it. I just stared at him through the mirror without him noticing. For some reason, I like to look at him and follow his every action. Even in the way how he's washing his face now, I can see something...beautiful in it? Yes, he's beautiful, that's for sure. Stop. What the hell are you thinking?

Charles looked up at the mirror, but he was startled to meet my own gaze. I thought it was funny, so I even laughed a bit.

"Am I that ugly?"

The question sounded kind of sad, even though I'm laughing. Or am I a little bit nervous? Although in any case, I can blame an alcohol as the reason of my strange behavior right now. Yes, I hadn't drank too much, but who know how even a little bit of a drink may affect my tired brain?

My question seemed to take Leclerc by surprise, for he seemed to be pondering over the answer.

"No, why'd you ask?"

"You were scared of me."

"Well, I don't get much attention from drunk guys, you know."

"Such a shame. But you know – now you're drunk as well."

Now we both laughed. Yes, drunken bickering is still a circus - any argument will quickly find a counterargument.

"But why you're here alone?"

Now it's my turn to think about the answer. I lowered my head and shrugged, then looked at Charles again, but not through the mirror.

"I've always been alone, you know."

"It was back then, in childhood, but now you are no longer a child."

"You're right. But the habit remained."

"Okay, you got it."

I watched him dry his hands and adjust his clothes. Apparently, he's going to leave. Heck! I need to seize the moment while there is a chance, and at least talk to him a little more.

"Have you ever done something that you would probably regret later? But if you didn't do that, you would regret about that even more?"

Charles looked at me questioningly and then turned to me. Come on, was there anything like that? Please say anything, whatever you want, but don't leave. I missed our conversations. I've missed you, you fucking Monegasque.

"It's hard to say. I doubt so."

For some reason, his answer made me grin. I paused for a moment and turned to face him, then looked at the guy carefully.

"Are we enemies?"

"Rivals, to be more precise."

"Rivals."

I nodded, accepting Charles' correction, but I didn't take my eyes off him. In his eyes, I see so many different emotions: confusion, a drop of fear, and it seems to me, or do I also see interest?

"You've been drinking. So am I. That means that we're both drunk. Am I right?"

"Max, are you okay?"

I wanted to answer at first, but instead I just took a step forward and he took a step back, pushing his back against the wall of the bathroom. Gathering my strength, or maybe it was the alcohol that gave me the courage, I exhaled, placed my hands on Monegasque's cheeks, and kissed him. I couldn't think straight now, as if all my thoughts had vanished. But ... Charles kissed me back. His lips feels so soft and pleasant to kiss. What the hell am I doing? Shit!

I immediately pulled away from him and was about to leave the bathroom in a hurry when he grabbed my hand and pulled me back to him, kissing me once again. I didn't expect this from him, but I couldn't resist and kissed him back anyway. He put his arm around my shoulders, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling our bodies closer together. This kiss felt so wrong and right at the same time. I didn't want to end it. We kissed, and it was a gentle kiss, but I couldn't resist biting Charles's lip, which made the salty taste of blood rise in my mouth. But even that didn't stop the kiss.

I do not know how much time has passed, but for me it seems that time has stopped completely, and only the sharp slam of the door brought us both back to the real world. We immediately pulled away from each other and looked at the door in confusion. Did someone saw us? But who? For some reason, I was more curious than afraid of being caught. Charles, on the other hand, seemed to turn pale.

I rubbed my hands over my eyes and tried to smile as reassuringly as I could.

"Well, we're drunk. Who knows what may happen when you're drunk, right?"

With that, I walked calmly out of the bathroom, leaving Charles alone. What exactly happened right now? Why did he kissed me back? Why didn't he pushed me away? Maybe it's all because of alcohol? Or maybe he had some interest in kissing guy? In kissing me? After all, when you're drunk, you can easily do some things that you would never do while being sober. But I didn't drink much. And how much did he drink? And did he drink at all?

I went over to my friends and asked Dan to drive me home. I said that I was feeling a little bit sick, to which he smiled slyly, but still agreed to fulfill his duty as my driver for the evening and drive me home.

Once in the car, Dan decided to ask what was wrong with me.

"And when did you start to feel a lil' bit sick?"

"Apparently drinking on an empty stomach wasn't my best idea."

We had a good laugh, and I somehow felt better.

"I knew that Monegasque had infected you with the sullenness virus."

I choked on my breath and stared at him in surprise.

"What? You should close the door first, and then kiss. Or you wanted to get caught? You little kinky sh..."

Okay, stop. So it was Daniel who caught us? Damn it, that's embarrassing. I think even the tips of my ears are red. Dan noticed this and laughed.

"Jesus, Max, I've noticed a long time ago that you're having crush on Charles. And don't even try to say that I'm wrong"

"But this is..."

"Denial is a river in Egypt, and you, mate, are gay. Or bi. Or whatever."

Did he just shut me up with a famous meme? I gave up and laughed. Was my crush on Charles really that obvious?

"Is it really that obvious?"

Dan sighed, as if he was about to tell me everything that had accumulated.

"And how do you think? All the smiles, the winks, the way you hug to each other on the podium, the way you tease each other? Do you think no one noticed that?"

He's right. We really have our special interaction with him on the podium. And we are really much closer to each other than with other pilots. What if we're just attracted to each other, and we simply don't realize it.

"By the way, I advise you to search the tag on the Internet, it's called #lestappen. I'm sure you'll find a lot of interesting things there, Maxie. Maybe it'll even help you figure yourself out."

"Lesta... who?"

"Lestappen. It's like Leclerc and Verstappen together. As a couple."

Wow. I knew, of course, that there were some couples who were called by some strange names. For example, Carlando. But I certainly didn't expect that Charles and I were also called somehow.

While I was thinking about what Dan had said, I didn't notice when we pulled up to my house.

"Thanks for the ride. And ... please don't tell anyone that you saw Charles and me, okay?"

Dan nodded and waved at me.

"And you promise me that you'll go through that tag. Lestappen, remember?"

I nodded and laughed softly, then walked toward the apartment while Dan turned the car around and apparently decided to go back to the party.

After entering my house, I decided not to shower, but to have a cold tea and lie down. The events of the last hour somehow knocked me down and I just wildly began to feel sleepy. It was as if tiredness had decided to take its toll and put me to bed sooner.

When I was done, I undressed and went to bed. And yeah, I couldn't fall asleep as soon as I wanted, so I decided to pick up my phone and search the Internet. What did he say? Lestappen?

I typed this into the search bar of one of the social networks and I got endless posts about me and Charles. Photos, videos, drawings, even stories. I wonder if Charles knows about all of this.

I began to look through the posts, at the photos and find myself thinking that maybe we do have something going on between us. Or that our fans noticed that a long time ago, but we, as me and Charles, didn't noticed that ourselves. Or maybe it's my slightly drunk brain that thinks so and it's just a fan fiction?

Flipping through one post after another, I didn't even notice how the dream gradually began to capture me. I just fell asleep with the phone in my hands.

Chapter Text

The morning wasn't as great as I wanted it to be. I may not have had much to drink last night, but my head feels as if I have downed several bottles of whiskey by myself. It was a great idea, that I covered the windows in the evening, otherwise now the headache would have been added to the pain in the eyes from the bright sun.

After lying in bed for a while, I tried to gather my strength and finally lift my body out of such a comfortable bed, I got up and decided to take a shower first. Be that as it may, but a shower in the morning sometimes invigorates many times better than a mug of strong coffee. But I checked my phone first: it's always a big deal on the morning after a party. What if something happened and I missed it?

I checked my phone and breathed a sigh of relief. No messages or anything else from the party, which means that everything went smoothly and I can relax. So with a calm mind, I headed for the bathroom.

Walking into the bathroom, I looked at my reflection, and it hit me: I kissed Max yesterday. I kissed Verstappen. At my best friend's house. Heck! Did this really happen, or was it just a fantasy of my tipsy brain?

I went over and leaned over the sink. Well, Charles, use your brains and try to figure out what happened last night. And then blame it all on the alcohol. People say that alcohol loosens the tongue and pushes for unreasonable actions? So what was it yesterday? And did it happen at all?

And yeap, maybe there was no kiss at all. Maybe it was all just my imagination. Although, why would I have such strange fantasies? And with him, too? So, thinking doesn't make it any easier.

I sighed heavily and took off my clothes, then I went to take a hot shower. A cold shower may be better, but I don't want to feel cold right now. I want to feel some warmth. Even from the water in the shower.

What if I ask Max about last night? No, this is a stupid idea. This is an extremely stupid idea. And how would I do it? I'd text him something like, "Hey, did we kiss last night?" It even sounds extremely absurd.

I smiled at my absurd thoughts and immediately felt a nasty pain in my lower lip. I ran my tongue over it and felt a small crack. Or is it a...a bite mark? The fuck?!

The image of Max standing right in front of me, licking his red lips, immediately popped in my head. Blood? My blood? How is it even possible...so it wasn't a fantasy. There really was a kiss. And apparently it wasn't just a peck on the lips or on the cheek.

Leclerc, you should stay away from drinking alcohol, because when you're drunk, you're doing some crazy shit. First, you make out with your main rival, and what's gonna be next? You will wake up in the same bed with him? Okay, dear paranoia, cut it out.

But on the other hand, if Max didn't text or call, it means that everything is fine. It's just that he's not the type of person to keep quiet about such things.

Thinking not only about this, but also about the upcoming races, I didn't even notice that I spent a lot longer in the hot shower than I originally expected.

After a while, I finally finished with all my water procedures, made myself look like a normal human being, and started doing what I always do: eat some breakfast, then go to the training, and then a little jog to clear my head.

I haven't received any strange messages from Max or anyone else in all that time. Maybe I shouldn't worry about it at all? After all, if everything is calm, then why should I keep playing on my nerves?

Usually, everyone from the grid spends the day after the party at their own home - you have to relax and get both mentally and physically ready for the upcoming race. So this is quite a logical course of events.

The day passed almost unnoticed. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. So, not wanting to go out for dinner, let alone cook, I called the delivery service and ordered a couple of items from the menu. Yes, I think food from delivery and a movie for the background will be a great ending of such tedious day.

After waiting for the meal, I settled down on the couch in front of the TV and started eating dinner. I didn't really watch the movie on the screen, I just wanted to eat with some background sounds, so I won't feel alone, and then just go to sleep.

After eating, I spent some time in front of the screen before heading to the bathroom. A hot shower relaxes muscles, and I can fall asleep faster after it.

So I didn't spend much time in the shower, just pulled on my pajama pants and got into the bed. Oddly enough, today I managed to find a comfortable position for sleeping much faster, so sleep was not long in coming.

Chapter Text

If you want to hate a song, put it as your alarm clock signal. This phrase has never been so perfectly aligned with my thoughts when I heard my phone ring with an alarm that I don't even remember setting.

I groped for my phone somewhere in the depths of the bed, somehow turned off the annoying song and looked at the screen: some blog with pictures of me and Charles was open on the screen. I didn't get the point at first, but then I remembered last night. Not even the whole evening, but rather the end of it.

I immediately sat up in bed and flipped through a couple of posts with photos and captions attached by fans to them. And all the captions were of a romantic nature. The funny thing is, I wasn't bothered or outraged by this at all. I think it's even kind of ... cute? It turns out that you can see a lot more from the outside than I always thought.

But I was distracted from reading the blog by my own sudden thoughts...or memories, I wasn't really sure what exactly it was, but...Charles and I kissed. Me and Charles. We kissed. But was it true, or am I still half awake and this is just my imagination?

If this was a dream, it was too damn real. I can remember Charles way too clearly, and how he was standing in front of me in that bathroom. I remember the blush on his cheeks and the fright in his mesmerizing green eyes when someone slammed the door. So it wasn't a dream, was it?

I could ask him about what happened last night and was it true that we were kissing at his friends'house, but how can I do it? Just call and ask directly? Write a message? And if nothing happened, what if he thinks I'm a complete jerk after asking such questions? I'll look pathetic in his eyes then, but I don't really want it.

While my mind was busy thinking about yesterday, I had already taken a shower and was in the middle of preparing a light breakfast when a call came to my phone. I wonder who needs me now?

I picked up the phone: Honey Badger. Well, who else could it be? I answered the phone immediately.

"Ki ki ki rrra! How are you, loverboy?"

"A loverboy? What are you talking about?"

"Max, have you forgotten everything?"

My friend's question caught me off guard. What could I have forgotten that now is making him call me loverboy? Did something happen between us?

"Daniel, you have to tell me what happened last night."

There was a heavy sigh on the phone.

"Max, you made out with Leclerc last night, and I saw you both, but you didn't know it was me, so you both pissed off and decided to get out of Gasly's party. And yeah, that was hell suspish. I also gave you a ride home. Do you remember now?"

So we really did kiss. And Daniel was the one who saw us. But I'm kinda glad that it was Daniel who caught us, and not someone else. I don't have any enemies as such, but I'll definitely find some detractors, so it's a good thing it wasn't one of them.

"To be honest, my memory isn't ok now. Did...well...only you saw us?"

"Yeah, just me, so you can relax."

His words really made me feel better. Still, Daniel may seem like a clown, but as a friend he is pure perfection - he's always near when I need him, and he always got my back.

"By the way, did you tell Leclerc that I saw you? He already looks like his life is totally fucked, and honestly I don't wanna be his extra reason for stress".

"No, we haven’t talked yet".

"Well, then go ahead and call him, what are you waiting for?"

I didn't think about it at all, and I'm frankly afraid to seem like a real idiot in front of someone I've known for almost half my life.

"I just don't know how to start a conversation with him about what happened yesterday."

There was laughter on the other side of the phone. And the laughter wasn't quiet, because Ricciardo does not know how to laugh quietly.

"You pick up the phone, dial your crush's number, and say, 'My love, don't stress, that was Danny Ricciardo who was as last night, and he's a reliable guy, and he didn't tell anyone what he saw."

We were both laughing now. Daniel knows how to cheer me up in any situation, and this one is clearly no exception.

"I'll do it tonight. I still have things to do for the day - Christian won't be thrilled if I start skipping training sessions and meetings."

Even if I don't sedan now, and I know for a fact that he shook his head. He often does this when he is dissatisfied with something.

"Okay, but promise me you'll do it. In the end, you both have something to talk about."

"Yes, Dan, you're right. But I have to go now."

"Then you can tell me how it went. Bye, loverboy."

"Bye."

I hung up and went about my business, which is the only way I can get my mind off last night.

After spending the entire day training and meeting with potential sponsors, I didn't even notice that it was already late in the evening. When I got home, I was suddenly more tired than I'd felt in a long time.

Without even eating dinner, I went straight to the bathroom, where I took a hasty hot shower, then got dressed and went to bed. I'll finish the rest tomorrow. I'll leave everything for tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Almost a week has passed since that party at Pierre's. 4 days, to be more precise. And every damn day I think about what happened in that bathroom between me and fucking Verstappen. And to be honest with myself, I wouldn't mind repeating it. How did I come to this conclusion? Very simple - I just started thinking about all the interactions we had during and outside of the race. Yes, and in Instagram, I often began to be marked in photos with Max, especially after that photo of us, that I published in one of my stories.

By the way, thanks to "Instagram", I learned about such a strange phenomenon as "Lestappen". The word sounds funny, but what hides behind that is a little bit scary, haha. It turns out that the Internet is full of people who seriously consider Max and me not just rivals, but real lovers. How is it called? "From enemies to lovers", isn't it? As I understand it, this is when enemies become lovers. People usually say sometimes there's a fine line between love and hate, but in our case it's the other way around.

In addition, people even find evidence that there is something between us: photos with clearly not purely friendly context, since all our looks, hugs, and even the way we react to each other certainly can't be called "friendship". Even in post-race interviews, we sit so that we can touch each other in some way. And in general, when talking to the press, we often mention each other - not directly, but everyone immediately understands our references. Honestly, we don't do all this intentionally. It comes naturally. Maybe all these people are right, and we just don't realize it? After all, if we "hated each other, as we used to say earlier in the interviews, then there would be no kiss? I wonder what Max thinks about all this situation and I mean does he know about "Lestappen" thing or no?

But back to racing. All the teams have already arrived at the British track "Silverstone", where the next Grand Prix will be held. The first qualification wasn't terrible - it was a literal nightmare. And why? Because I'm having trouble with my car again. The mechanics said: "Nonsense, there is a minor problem with the electrics." So if the problem was "minor", why did they take apart the entire front of the car and change almost all the electronic elements in it? I freaked out and just left boxing, so as not to make a scandal right there and then be scolded by my superiors.

During the interview after qualifying, I was hurt and almost cried in front of buch of reporters when I was asked about the problems with the car. "A minor electrical problem" - I said and silly smiled like a jerk. This is how I responded to reporters, but in reality I wanted to scream with anger and despair. I was angry at the mechanics, at the strategists, at the bosses, at myself. At such moments, I feel extremely helpless: I want to scream, but I can't; I want to destroy and crush everything around me, but I can't. I'm sick of it, I'm so fucking sick of it.

But on the second day of qualifying, the car was fine, and my teammate and I took 4th and 5th places on the grid. But even this did not help us much - at the end of the main race, we were in 9th and 10th place, respectively. But this time in this race I did not race with Verstappen, as I did last time, but with Russell. He was almost right next to my car all the time, but I didn't let him overtake me. But on lap 19, I came to a pit stop, where I had my tires replaced with hard ones, and from that point on, the race for prize places was over for me. Meanwhile, the brit was still racing on soft, so he had a great pace - warmed up tires, better grip on the track. But after his pit stop, Russell was following me again, but he passed me pretty quickly in his medium tires. What a surprise, yeah.

But I wasn't the only pilot who has problems with his car. Three of other pilots got DNF: Okon's car started having mechanical problems on lap 12; Magnussen dropped out of the race on lap 34 because the smoke from the rear part of the car; Stroll and Gasly collided on lap 46, in which the car was damaged and as a result, the car of the latter had been damaged. I'm not sure what exactly damages it has, but I guess it was something with suspension the right side of the rear.

The result of the Grand Prix: another victory for Verstappen, an unexpected triumph for Norris from "McLaren", and the third place was taken by the main whiner and Max hater - Hamilton from "Mercedes". And, of course, another flaw in "Ferrari's" strategy. Not only that, I lost my temper during the race and was rude to my teammate Carlos. Am I ashamed? Sure. Did I apologize to him after the race? Of course I did. In any case, it's just the two of us in this infernal mess called "Ferrari", where neither of us can show our full potential in the cars that some people in the pits are so "carefully" preparing for our every race.

Since I didn't win a prize, I didn't have time to communicate with Max, although I had something to ask him. After changing clothes, I mean my racing suit for lighter casual clothing, I headed down the hallway of the race center exit to finally get in my car and drive back to the hotel. As I was thinking about my own business, I noticed, not for the first time, that someone was calling my name. It was only about the third time that I came to my senses and turned at the sound of a painfully familiar voice. Verstappen. He, just like myself, had already changed his racing suit for casual ones and was apparently also about to leave the center.

"Charles! Are you deaf? I called you...I called you like three times, but you didn't respond".

Well, that's what it is. When your head is full of thoughts, It's just impossible to notice what is happening around you or if there's someone calling for you. Especially if they call you by your first name. Especially if it's someone who occupies your thoughts for almost half your day.

"Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking of something and..."

We shook hands and I gave him the usual wink, which was met with a smile from the Dutchman.

"Listen, I wanted to talk to you about..."

Before he could finish his sentence, other member of his team, as well as his friend Daniel Ricciardo, came around the corner.

"Hello, loverboys!"

What the hell did he just said? And why did he calles me...I mean, us, "loverboys"? He certainly saw surprised expression on my face, and I was surprised to an extreme degree, but Max, as it seemed to me, was confused and...embarassed? Daniel came up to us and patted our backs.

"What's the reaction? Wait, Max didn't tell you?"

What? Max didn't tell me what? What was he supposed to tell me anyway? Why did he call us "loversboys" anyways? What's going on? I have so many questions and I would like to get answers to every single one of them.

"Um ... no?"

I shrugged, still in shock as I looked from a smiling Danny to a confused Max, who was biting his lower lip nervously, and I immediately caught flashbacks from the bathroom.

"No. What was he supposed to tell me?"

"Like the fact that I was the one who caught you two making out in Gaslys' bathroom."

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at us the way a parent might look at a guilty child. Either that or the realization of what he was saying literally sent a rush of heat through my body, and my cheeks and ears turned red to the tips. I swear to God I'm now as red as like my "Ferrari" T-shirt.

"Dan, I told you I'd tell him myself."

"But why you're slower that their pit-stop crew then? No offence, Charles. And you still din't tell him anything. So, your best friend is ready to run and help you out".

Riccardo, in his usual way, accompanied his words with active gestures, from which all his seriousness immediately went to zero. It seems that my nerves decided to pass and instead of any clear answer, I just laughed. Both Max and Dan looked at me in surprise, clearly not understanding what was going on.

"Charles, are you okay?"

The Dutchman's hand came down on my shoulder and he gave me a light shake. I nodded in response and took a deep breath to recover.

"I'm fine. I just couldn't figure it out whether it was true or just my wild imagination."

It seems that neither the Dutch nor the Australian expected such an answer from me. Max was shocked, but Dan was surprised and a little bit suspicious.

"So....you do remember?"

Max asked a question and raised an eyebrow, and I nodded. God, I feel like I'm either going to laugh or cry again. Too many emotional swings in the last twenty-four hours: first the post-party thoughts, then the car problems, and now the realization that the kiss really happened, and that we really got caught. And who caught us? Daniel fucking Ricciardo. Although if no one is talking about me and Verstappen, then he hasn't told anyone.

"And you didn't tell anyone about it?"

The Australian shook his head and smiled the way only he could.

"I'm a funny guy, not a jerk. Especially since my friend's personal life is his own business. If he wants to, he'll tell everyone everything about his life and yada-yada-yada. So I'm going to keep my mouth shut about this."

He gestured as he closed his mouth with an imaginary lock and threw out the key. Still, he's really funny. But it's clearly time for me to leave before the conversation gets even weirder.

"Well, if that's the case, then..."

I glanced at Max, who was watching me intently, not sure what to expect from me. Honestly, I wasn't sure what should I do or tell next, but YOLO, Charlie!

"...then I wouldn't mind repeating it."

I gave Max a silly smile and immediately walked briskly out of the center, leaving Max and Daniel in the building both looking shocked. God, what have I done? I need to run and don't look back, and do it ASAP. Charles, what were you talking about? What the hell you meant by "repeating"? I need to get in my car and get to the hotel. ASAP.

Chapter Text

After the British Grand Prix, we had a two-week break between races. It's quite a long time and I need to make the most of it, so I decided to go to Naples to visit my uncle - my little cousin goes karting, just like I did when I was a kid. I still want to visit my relatives, because after becoming a Formula 1 driver, I often don't have enough time for this.

I informed both my family and my team of my plans. Of course, not everyone reacted positively to this - my father, as always, was dissatisfied, because he believes that I have to spend all my free time on the simulator if no races are expected. And then he wonders why things are strained between us. Actually, that's why I didn't really mind his words, so I just took the necessary things from home and went to the airport, from where I will fly to Italy on a private jet.

The flight to Naples doesn't take long, but I did have some time to think about everything that happened in the last few days. What exactly happened in that hallway? And how should I understand Charles' reaction to the fact that the kiss was real? Sometimes I don't understand this Monegasque at all. But even more questions are raised by his words: "I don't mind repeating it." I thought I'd misheard him at first, but Dan brought me back to the real world with his ringing laugh. He said I looked as if my lower jaw was about to meet the floor. Well, I can imagine how I looked like.

Dan laughed a little more, and then he said something like, "Two broken people will always find and heal each other." Broken? Well, I can agree on that: both Charles and I have had a pretty rough life, and we're only twenty-five. But never mind, life goes on, so just keep smiling and wave your hands like everything's fine.

"I don't mind repeating it." Charles's words repeat themselves in my head like a Möbius strip. He wouldn't mind repeating that kiss, and he said it when he was completely sober. Hell, I wouldn't mind it myself. I wonder if this is even real? Is it really possible to repeat the kiss? And why would he even say that? To make fun of me and my reaction? And once again: sometimes I don't understand this Monegasque.

I wonder how he spends this weekend. Maybe he's also decided to step away from racing and take a break from everything that is connected with races, or is he doing everything as an exemplary pilot and improving his skills day after day? For some reason, I am sure that the first option would be more suitable. He's an excellent pilot even without practice. But people believe that "There is no limit to perfection." But Charles is perfect.

I was looking at the rooftops through the plane window and thinking about Charles, and I didn't even notice that a smile was forming on my lips. Hell, this little devil is taking over my mind somehow, and I don't mind, to be honest.

Shortly after landing at the airport, I left my private jet and headed towards the parking lot, where my rental car was already waiting for me. God, thanks to that person who came up with the idea of rental service! I got in my car and drove quickly from the airport to my uncle's house.

My cousin had a go-kart race this morning, so I'll see my family and see how the little guy is doing. I am glad that he is surrounded by his family, who will always support him and who don't care whether he wins the race or loses it. And I'm glad his dad doesn't leave him at a gas station in a godforsaken place just because he finished second place instead of first.

I went to the door of a house and rang the bell. The house isn't too big, but it's quite nice: one-story, bright, with spacious windows, with a neat lawn at the front of the house and a nice and comfy area in the backyard. My uncle's family has lived here for a long time, but the house looks just perfect, as if it was built not so long ago.

As I looked around, a courtyard opened up in front of me.

"Max! What a surprise!"

My uncle smiled happily and hugged me tightly. You can tell from hugs like that you're really welcome.

"Hi. I had some free time, so I decided to visit my cousin and see you as well."

"Well, do not stand there like a mummy, come in!"

My uncle let me in, and I immediately noticed that there were too many shoes on the shelf. Do they have guests? In fact, I should have announced the visit first, to avoid an awkward situation.

"You have company? Maybe I should visit you later?"

"Yes, after karting, the boys decided to have lunch here. And, Max, you're always welcome here. Especially since your little brother missed you."

I smiled. It's so damn nice to hear such words from relatives. I took off my shoes and went into the living room with my uncle.

"Uncle Max!"

My little brother threw his arms around my neck, and I hugged him tightly. After greeting the others, I looked around and met a pair of eerily familiar green eyes. Charles Leclerc in my uncle's living room. Stop. Charles Marc Hervé Percival Leclerc in my uncle's living room. I obviously didn't expect such a turn of events, and it seems that Monegasque is as surprised as I am.

"Um...hi?"

After a moment's hesitation, he came over to me, and we shook hands, as we usually do after finishing a race. The usual greeting gesture.

"Hi. I didn't expect to see you here."

"My cousin is racing go-karts with yours, so they decided to play some games after the race. And I'm just being a babysitter for my little guy."

For some reason, I found the image of Charles as nanny hilarious, and I laughed softly, which earned me a quick poke in the side from Leclerc.

"And I decided to come to visit, since I had a chance."

I shrugged, and Charles smiled and nodded. He knows exactly what I mean, because we're basically in the same situation. There is almost no free time, so such days as these are a special pleasure.

"All right, everyone, get to the table! Quick!"

My uncle's wife called everyone to the table, and we went in a friendly crowd to the dining room. Well, Charles and I went, and the little ones raced there - they compete even here. Just like us when we were kids.

It's been a long time since I've felt such a family atmosphere: we sat around the table, chatted about everything, joked, ate homemade food, classical music played softly in the background - in general, the dinner turned out to be just great. I think Charles thinks so too, because he's smiling a lot more today than he's been in a while.

After lunch, the kids went to play a game console, and we - that is, Charles, me, my uncle, and his wife - went to the backyard for a coffee break. After drinking a cup of coffee, we sat down in the wicker chairs. The weather is just wonderful: not too hot, not too cool. Perfect.

I don't know, how long we chatted in the backyard, but the time passed quickly for everyone. Live conversations, no seriousness, no gossip and negativity. We discussed both success in our racing and kid's success in go-kart, my uncle told me about his plans to renovate the house, and his wife jokingly argued with him about the color of the walls he had chosen for the guest room.

Meanwhile, I found myself glancing at Monegasque a lot. He covers his mouth prettily when he laughs, and before he takes a sip from his mug, he always blows into it first, just in case the coffee is still too hot. Funny little things, but I like to notice such details in his behavior. It's like I recognize the real Charles, and not another version of him.

The time was gradually getting closer to evening, which means that it's time for the guests to leave. My uncle suggested that I spend the night with them, but I decided that I would rather spend the night in a hotel, as I did not want to burden them with my presence. Yes, and I will be feeling somehow more comfortable alone in a hotel room.

As I understood, Charles also decided not to spend the night at his own, but he has rented an apartment nearby. Not a bad option, I must admit. And since he's rented an apartment, it means he'll be staying here, and we'll have a chance to meet again. The day may not have started very well, but it ends just fine!

After saying our goodbyes, Charles, his cousin, and I left my uncle's house.

"Need a ride?"

Monegasque asked as we approached the side of the road where the car was parked. His little brother immediately jumped into the passenger seat. I shook my head and nodded in the direction of the car I'd rented for the duration of my stay in Naples.

"Oh, I see. Well, see you later, then?"

Charles held out his hand to me, and I hesitated a moment, and instead of shaking it, I hugged him. Nothing serious, usually in a friendly way. Apparently, he didn't expect this, but he hugged me back.

"Yes, see you later."

We let go of each other, exchanged a slightly awkward smile, and then walked back to our cars.

"Um, Charles?"

He turned and looked at me questioningly.

"I-I wouldn't mind repeating it, either."

I smiled awkwardly at the Monegasque, and at first he was a little confused and ... embarrassed? Even in the light of the streetlights, I could still see the faintest blush on his cheeks. He smiled back and nodded, then started back toward his car.

He didn't refuse, didn't resent, didn't laugh. Hell, did I really say that to him, and he didn't show any negative reaction? And his nod? Can this be considered as a consent? Still smiling, I walked to my car and got behind the steering wheel.

Charles will stay here for some time. Just the thought of that makes me smile like a lovesick fool. Wait, lovesick? And why not? Hell yes, I'm Max Verstappen, and I fell in love with my childhood rival Charles Leclerc.

Chapter Text

I obviously did not expect such surprises from this day, but I am happy with one thing - the surprises were pleasant, which is already a rarity in my life. I wonder what I would do in my free time if I hadn't decided to go visit my relatives in Naples. Would I just stay at home and think about my shitty life, then Pierre would come, he would beat my ass up for thinking bad of myself, and then he'd drag me to have some fun in any club or whatever? Yes, most likely, everything would be like that.

But instead, I packed up and went to Naples, and I didn't regret it one bit. It's probably the only right decision I've made in my life lately.

First I went to a race where my cousin was competing. I remember myself in his age and how I started to race back in my childhood. And as funny as it may sound, Max's cousin is also a go-karter, and what's more, he races with my cousin. A coincidence? I do not think so.

Speaking of Max. I didn't expect that he would also decide to come to Naples to spend some time with his relatives, so that's why I agreed to be a nanny for my little brother and go to visit the Verstappen relatives. Yeap, our cousins are good friends.

Apparently, he didn't expect to see me at his uncle's house either, as he literally froze when he saw me in their living room. And to be honest, I was pretty stunned myself when I saw him. But I was happy to see him off the track. To see good old Max, and not Max Verstappen , a two-time Formula 1 world champion.

Many people consider him to be arrogant, aggressive, sometimes even ill-mannered and a star-studded asshole, but he's nothing like that. He's not like that at all. Not a single gram. This Dutchman knows how to show character when necessary, but in fact he is a soft, funny, cozy, interesting person with whom to spend time is a pure pleasure. And today's dinner is a proof of that. It's just a pity that the time passed so quickly.

In the evening, when we had already gone home and said goodbye to everyone, Max said that he would also like to repeat that kiss. Hell, Charles, do you even realize that? Do you realize that Verstappen wouldn't mind kissing you again? Can we assume that something is happening between us, but we just don't fully understand it yet? I want to know the answer to this question, but I'm afraid of getting rejected, so I'm being stupid. That's sounds ridiculous, haha.

In the evening, I drove my cousin home, and I went to my rented apartment. I didn't want to check into the hotel, just like I didn't want to stay with my relatives, so the rented apartment is an ideal option for me.

When I arrived at my "temporary home", I found an extremely shitty surprise: there was an accident in the apartment - a pipe burst in the bathroom. Yeah, how could I expect this day to finish without any shitshow? You wish, Charles.

I immediately called the landlord and told him what had happened. Yes, the surprise is just "great", both for him and for me. Having somehow solved one problem, another appeared - these apartments will be renovated, which means that I will not be able to stay in peace and quiet. So I have to find another place to live for a while.

I searched the Internet for another option, but found nothing - summer period, real estate is rented at the speed of light. I didn't want to go to my family's house even now, because I don't want to embarrass them with my presence, even though they say that's not the case. There is only one option left - a hotel. As much as I don't want to move in there, it's my only option.

I packed my few belongings from the apartment, left my keys with the concierge, got in my car, and drove to the nearest hotel. As ridiculous as it sounds, there is only one hotel in the area, and to be more precise – it's the only hotel in the area where I wanted to stay. So I drove right there.

When I arrived at the hotel, I went straight to the front desk, where a middle-aged woman greeted me with her usual smile. She's an administrator, I guess.

When everything is good during the day, then expect that everything will go down the drain in the evening. And in reality, this is how it turns out: first the pipe burst, then there are no available places to rent, and now you can't rent a room in a hotel, because all the rooms are already occupied. Charles, loser is your middle name now.

I sat down on the couch in the hotel lobby to think about my plan of action. I could call my family and ask for an overnight stay, and in the morning I'll decide what to do next - look for another place to stay, or return to Monaco. Yes, staying with family is my last option, no, REALLY LAST option. I love them that's without question, but I need to be alone for at least some time a day.

While I was sitting there poking at my phone, and I didn't notice that someone came up to me.

"Charles? What are you doing here?"

I raised my head and looked at that person, whose voice sounded eerily familiar. Max Emilian Verstappen. Is this a joke? Why is he here? What was he doing here anyway?

"Um, well, I wanted to get a room, but the hotel is already full, so I'm thinking about what I should do now."

For some reason, it sounded like a stupid excuse. Well, the situation is really stupid, but what can I do? Life in general often likes to make fun of me.

Max frowned slightly, then shrugged and smiled. He looked like a confused child trying to figure out what to say and how to say it

"Well, you can stay in my room if you want."

Damn, I guess I'm blushing again. He asked a simple question, then why are you embarrassed?! Well, yes, two people can live in the same room. Two guys. Two rivals. Two people who'd kissed at the party and wouldn't mind doing it again. Heck!

"I don't know. It's...inconvenient somehow."

"No, mate, there's plenty of room for both of us. Let's go."

Max took my bag and, without giving me a chance to say anything, headed for the elevator.

"Coming?"

He smiled, and I was blunt again, but then I shook my head and followed him. I reached him just as the elevator doors opened. We entered it and Max pressed the button for his floor. Hmm, the fifth floor. I'll remember that, just in case. Oddly, it's evening, but the elevator is completely empty. But it even suits me: fewer people and more space for me...us.

While we were in the elevator, I managed to tell Max everything that had happened that evening: the accident, my failure to rent another apartment, and how unlucky I was with trying to book a hotel room. Well, the hotel was full, yeap, but Max took me to his room. Hell, it's kind of surreal: a rich man can't find a shelter for the night, so he spends the night in another rich man's room. A handsome rich man. A rich man who I know for half of my life. Well, that's...strange, but fine with me.

When we got to the fifth floor, we got out of the elevator and walked towards his ... our room for tonight. He opened the door with a key card and let me in.

"Ladies first."

"Then why you're still here?"

We laughed, but I went in first, because I didn't want to stay any longer in the doorway, and I didn't want to get my ass kicked right away. Although I doubt Max would kick me right now, I would often need it just to feel alive. I mean kick, not Max. Max, too, though. Charles, pull yourself together!

The room, by the way, was not bad – spacious and quite cozy. It's so strange to be in the same room with Max: I'm both calm and somehow...excited. But excited in a good way.

We sat down on the couch in front of the TV and I noticed a game console. Maybe we could play a little? I need to relax, especially after such a shitty evening as I had. I picked up the joystick, the only one, and looked at the Dutchman.

"Let's play?"

Max nodded enthusiastically and got up from the couch to turn on the game console, while I took my glasses and bandana out of my bag - and my "gaming outfit" was ready. Max also took out his glasses – yes, we are racers, but we are also bespectacled when it comes to games.

We sat on the floor and waited for the console to load. For some reason, it's always more convenient to play on the floor. This is probably because you have more space for action and no backs or handles will constrain you.

"Can you help me?"

I handed Max my bandana – I can't seem to tie it properly: I can tie it whether too tight or too loose. So I need a little help now.

"No problem, just tell, me how."

I nodded and moved my back a little away from the couch, and Max sat down right behind me. It was strange to realize that the Dutchman was sitting right behind me. I could literally feel his chest close to my back. He's so close, and it makes me feel hot. Or am I hot because I'm wearing a hoodie? Max carefully tied my bandana, just like I usually do myself.

"Not too tight?"

"No, but can you tie it a little tighter?"

He pulled the knot a little tighter and put his hands on my shoulders.

"There's only one joystick, isn't there?"

"So we'll take turns playing then."

He nodded and moved away, sitting next to me on the floor. I immediately felt cool and uncomfortable. But if I ask him to sit in the back, it will be kinda strange. Well, yes, kissing drunk is not strange for you, but asking him to sit behind you is, yeah, Charles?.

In the meantime, the console has already loaded, and we have chosen the game that we will play. "Crash Bandicoot" – no matter how funny it may sound, but it turns out that we both love this game since childhood, so we pretty quickly decided what game we would like to play. The game loaded, and we started playing – he plays one level, and then I. Of course, the first levels go with a bang, there are never any difficult moments, but the closer we got to the bosses, the more we both started to freak out, as we began to lose almost every other time.

"Damn you! Is it even possible to pass this shitty level? Is this even real?!"

I freaked out and threw the joystick on the couch behind us, and Max laughed as he watched me freaking out about the fucking flower that kept me from completing the level.

"Are you laughing at me? Do you think it's that easy? Here, take it and try to pass it yourself!"

I crossed my arms on my chest and pouted lips, just like a little child. Max got up from his seat, picked up the joystick from the couch, and sat back down behind me. He held out his hands with the joystick just right in front of me.

"Relax, I'll help you. What if we can get through this level together?"

I stalled a bit, but nodded and took the joystick off his arms. He sat down behind me again. Damn, I was getting hot again. I tried to sit up more comfortably, and Max put his hands on top of mine on the joystick and rested his chin on my shoulder. He's so close, and it's almost scary. And how I can play now, when he's so close?

"Here, try to pass through here, and then jump over to that platform."

I bit my lip and nodded, obediently following the Dutchman's instructions. He holds my hands in his and helps me push the right buttons, and my mind is fully occupied with other thought that the game, but I try not to show it.

Meanwhile, we really managed to pass that level, and it turns out to be much easier to do it together. Jump, jump, jump, then double jump, then slide, jump again, and we're at the finish line!

"Yes!"

I smiled contentedly, turned to the Dutchman and hugged him tightly, knocking him onto his back and lying on him. He was smiling, too, and he hugged me back just as tightly.

"It worked! I told you!"

He laughed, and I couldn't to laugh too. It's so weird, cuddling on the floor and laughing. It's weird for me, but right now I don't care. I feel good right now, and somehow I'm sure he does, too.

Chapter Text

Charles and I are lying on the floor of a hotel in Naples, our arms wrapped around each other. We lie down and laugh. And it feels like time has stopped, and I don't want it to resume its course. I want this moment to last as long as possible. I feel so good, calm and comfortable with him. Even here on the floor.

Charles raised his head and looked at me, and at that moment I realized that he's right here and so close to me. His glasses incredibly fit him, and this red bandana tied over his slightly disheveled hair, which has become something of a fetish for me. Red bandana, and I'm from the "Red Bull" team. Is it possible to say that it is for me something like a red cloth for a bull?

I leaned forward a little and touched his lips with mine. Cautiously, as if I'm afraid he might push me away. But he didn't push me away, just like at Pierre's party. Feeling no resistance, I continued the kiss, caressing the Monegasque's lips with my own, and he did the same with mine in response. He has incredibly soft lips and I can't help but only kiss him tenderly.

He wrapped his arms around my neck, and I ran my hands down his back and wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling him closer to me. At one point, I felt a faint but pleasant pain as he bit through my lip and pulled away.

"We're even now."

He smiled contentedly, and I smiled back, remembering what he was talking about. I bit his lip in the first kiss, and this is his little petty revenge. The treacherous Monegasque.

"It won't be for a long time."

Smiling, I pressed my lips against his asking for another kiss, which he instantly responds to. But this kiss was more demanding – we were no longer caressing, but biting each other's lips, and the salty taste of blood – it was no longer clear whether it was mine or his – made this kiss a little bit spicier.

My hand slid under Charles's hoodie, and the touch of my fingertips on his skin felt like a wave of electric shock - fleeting, but so pleasant. He felt it too, as he flinched at the touch and exhaled softly into the kiss.

Reluctantly, we broke the kiss, and Charles immediately buried his face in my neck, as if trying to hide his reddened cheeks. I don't know why, but I'm pretty sure he's blushing.

"You wanted to repeat that, didn't you?"

He asked softly, still keeping his head down as his breath tickled my neck pleasantly. I nodded and gave him a quick smooch at the temple over the bandanna.

"And you?"

The Monegasque nudged me lightly in the side, which made me laugh softly, and he picked me up and laughed with me.

"What's the habit of answering a question with another question?"

He finally lifted his head and looked at me. I was right - his cheeks do have a pinkish tinge, which makes him look even cuter.

"Yes, that's what I wanted to repeat."

Laughing, I nodded and patted his hair lightly, which made him look at me with displeasure.

"Actually, it was a "thank you" for helping me pass that level. But if you're happy with this type of the kiss, then I don't mind."

He sat up on top of me with a very straight face, straightened his hoodie, and put his hands on his hips. I propped myself up on my elbows and looked at him. Charles looked around, assessing the situation, and immediately got up, no, no, he literally flew off me to the floor and immediately turned away. Is he embarrassed again? I couldn't help but laugh, then got up from the floor and held out my hand.

"Get up, it's late, and it's time to go to bed."

Charles took a deep breath, but still took my hand and got up from the floor.

"By the way, where I'm going to sleep?"

This is an interesting question, of course. I'd forgotten that this room only has one bed, but it also has a couch. I shrugged my shoulders.

"One could sleep on the bed, other one - on the couch?"

"Well, since it's your room, I'll sleep on the couch."

"No problem. You get settled in, and I'll take a shower."

I took a couple of things out of my bag and then headed to the bathroom. I can't believe I spent most of the day with Charles. First lunch, and lunch with my relatives, then the evening that we spent playing our favorite childhood game, now it's night, and we will spend the night in the same room. I wonder what does he think about today? Is he extremely upset about the accident in the apartment and would have preferred to leave my room as soon as possible?

After taking a shower and changing into pajama pants and a light T-shirt, I left the bathroom. Charles had already made a bed for himself and was waiting for his turn to shower.

"You can go now, if you don't mind."

"Like I have a choice."

Charles made a feigned squeamish sound and, grabbing things from his bag, slipped past me into the bathroom. As I approached the bed, I immediately noticed that it was missing a pillow and a top blanket. Well, yes, why order a second set of bedding for the room, if you can steal some from a neighbor?

While Charles showered, I got into bed and picked up my phone. I should write to Daniel.

Me:

"You won't believe who I'm sharing a room with."

And his answer came a lot quicker than I thought.

Honey badger:

"Did the lovers decide to spend a night in a cozy hotel room together? Have you decided to skip the flower and candy period and immediately get down to business?"

I laughed at his answer.

Me:

"Of course, why should we waste time? And to be honest, the situation is hilarious."

Honey badger:

"I'm all ears."

Me:

"I flew to Naples to visit my family, and it turns out that he did too. We met at my uncle's house. Can you imagine that? We had lunch there, then we both left."

Honey badger:

"And how did Mr.Ferrari-Gave-Me-Depression end up in your room?"

Me:

"A pipe burst in his apartment, and there were no available rooms in the hotel. So I offered to spend the night in my room."

Honey badger:

"Maxi, Maxi, Maxi. The universe itself is in awe of you and Leclerc messing up. So why you're both acting like complete idiots?"

In general, the question is very reasonable. There are really too many things between Charles and me that happen unconsciously and lead to such questionable results. Shared interests, shared hobbies, shared weekend plans that we didn't even agree on.

Honey badger:

"Did you fall asleep, or did Leclerc did something naughty to you for chatting with me while he's right there?:D"

Me:

"Sorry, I was thinking. I have to go. I'll write again."

I heard the water turn off in the bathroom and Charles came out a few minutes later. We looked at each other and nodded. He put his clothes on one of the armchairs and lay down on the couch, while I settled on the bed.

"Well ... good night?"

"Yes, good night."

I turned off the bedside lamp, and Charles turned off the TV and the lights in his part of the room. The room immediately became so dark, but it's even better – in the dark you fall asleep faster and don't think about anything. I lay on my bed and closed my eyes, trying to fall asleep as quickly as possible.

I listened to the silence and heard the Monegasque tossing and turning on the couch. Probably he can't find a comfortable pose for sleeping, although the sofa is quite large and, as I thought, comfortable. Maybe it is comfortable if you sit on it, and not try to sleep.

I lay with my eyes closed, hoping that sleep would soon take me in its arms. I need to sleep, or the thought of what happened today will occupy my brain and I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight at all.

As I lay there, I didn't even notice that the other half of the bed was buckling under the weight of the man who had climbed on it. Then the blanket lifted, and I felt Charles' chest pressed against my back. Charles decided to lie down next to me and sleep in one bed with me. Feeling him so close felt so good. He put his arm around me, I put my hand on his and intertwined our fingers in a kind of "lock".

"So now it's a real good night."

I felt a brief kiss on my shoulder and smiled contentedly. With a little squeeze of his hand, I was finally able to relax properly, and I felt sleep gradually take hold of me.

"Good night to you, too, Charles."

I managed to speak softly before falling into the realm of Morpheus.

Chapter Text

I woke up in the morning and didn't feel tired. It's fucking weird, because it's been a long time since I've felt this way, since I've only been able to fall asleep thanks to the pills for a long time. Yes, sleeping pills can leave a nasty aftertaste of fatigue in the morning, because I fall asleep because of the pills, and not because of fatigue, which would be more natural for both the body and the mind.

But yesterday, for the first time in quite some time, I fell asleep without pills. I woke up quite recently, but I didn't have a trace of sleep left. And now I was lying on my back in bed in a hotel room in Naples. I turned my head to the side and saw Verstappen sleeping next to me. Hell, I fell asleep without pills and with Max in my arms. And I slept so calm - no nightmares, no anxious thoughts, no discomfort or freaking panic attacks. I felt good, calm, and...safe?

In general, the whole day yesterday turned out to be somewhat unreal - that meeting at lunch with Max's relatives, then my "catastrophe" with the apartments, and for the desert – another fail with the hotel. But in the end, here I am, in bed with Max Verstappen, a two-time Formula 1 world champion. And I knew how it may end when I chided myself for my drunken antics after the incident at Pierre's. But yesterday, both he and I were completely sober.

He's sleeping so peacefully right now. I woke up before he did, so I can take some time and just look at the Dutchman sleeping next to me. Actually, who can forbid me to do it now?

He's lying on his side, facing me, one hand under the pillow, the other one across my stomach. He held me in his sleep. Why do I feel so good just thinking about it? His lips are slightly parted, and I can hear his soft, measured breathing. I wonder what he's dreaming about. Apparently, it was a pleasant dream.

I gently touched the bridge of his nose with my fingertips and ran them lightly over his nose. For some reason, I've always wanted to do this. This is one of the ticks from the list of "Strange wishes of weirdo Charles Leclerc".

Max wrinkled his nose in displeasure, but it was funny as hell, and then he lazily opened his eyes. His eyes were unfocused, but as soon as he saw me, he smiled sleepily, and I couldn't help but smile back.

"Good morning. How long have you been awake?"

Dammit, his voice was husky this morning. For some reason, my thoughts immediately decided to move in the wrong direction, but I shook my head, as if to ward them off and give a negative answer to Max's question. A convenient gesture – one answer to two questions at once.

"Did I wake you up?"

Now it's my turn to ask. He smiled and gave a small shake of his head. I lay on my side and ran my hand through his hair, running my fingers through the short strands. I never thought that I would lie here and cuddle with someone whom people consider as my number one rival since childhood.

It was as if we were playing a peekaboo game - I stared at him with interest, and he stared at me in the same way. It's like seeing each other for the first time. Although, it's really the first time we've been so close and in such a situation.

I looked at his ocean blue eyes, his light stubble, his lips. I wanted to remember him like this, so I absorbed every detail of his face like a sponge. I immediately remembered the lines from one song: "We keep this love in a photograph, we made these memories for ourselves". Is there love between us? I don't know. But I want to remember him as he's now as long as possible, as if I can save it in a photograph.

We didn't have to hurry anywhere, so we decided to stay in bed for most of the first half of the day. We just lay around and chatted, joked about something, even jokingly argued about some nonsense.

Someone says that it is difficult to find a common language with Max because of his lack of a "filter" when he talks and his character. But I know one thing for sure: those who say so simply don't know him, well, or don't want to know him and what kind of a person he really is. This is even better in a way, because then you will be surrounded by fewer fake people.

I finally got out of bed and took the first shower while Max ordered room service. We didn't have dinner last night, and we successfully overslept breakfast time. So yes, we could use some food for both of us.

After all the water procedures, we waited for the meal and sat down at the small dining table. The advantage of hotels is that you don't have to go downstairs to eat in the common room; you can order food and eat in your room, avoiding the eyes of people. A kind of voluntary self-isolation from society.

We sat across from each other, chatted, and had a lot more to talk about than we thought. Without hurrying anywhere, we finished our meal, which smoothly turned into lunch.

"I have a question."

I said, looking at Max and holding my coffee cup tightly in my hands. He looked at me questioningly and even stopped chewing on his Belgian waffle.

"Sounds threatening, but go ahead."

I pursed my lips and hesitated a bit, trying to find the right words and then put them in one adequate sentence.

"The thing between us...well, I mean, the kissing."

Max visibly tensed, setting aside his mug and locking his fingers in a sort of "lock". I feel like a guilty kid in front of a strict adult. Well done, Charles, you started the conversation yourself, and now you're ready to back off. At such moments, I want to repeat one of my famous phrases: "I'm stupid".

"I understand if it doesn't seem right to you, and you don't want to repeat it, and that we –"

"But I want to."

I abruptly interrupted his incipient tirade, though I didn't expect it from myself. Max's mouth was open for a second, because I cut him off in mid-sentence and he was shocked, and he looked so funny.

"I want to, Max. But I want to know who we are to each other."

He bit his lower lip, looked out the window as if someone would tell him the right answer, and then looked at me.

"I don't know what to call it, or who we are to each other, but I want to be with you, even though we both know that this is impossible in our reality."

And he's right. It would be a major blow to the careers we've both been building since we were kids, and how would our families react to such news? Yes, everyone everywhere is actively supporting that "love knows no boundaries" and "love has no gender" policy", but this lasts exactly as long as it does not affect them.

"Yes. You're right."

I nodded and smiled faintly as I stared at the mug in front of me. The coffee was starting to cool off, but my hands still stung. Maybe I should read my fortune on the coffee grounds later. As if this trash at the bottom of the mug could help solve our problems.

"But it could be our little secret."

He placed his hand on top of mine and squeezed it lightly, pulling my gaze away from the mug and bringing my attention back to him.

"A secret?"

"Yes. Let's date secretly? Only you and I will know about our relationship."

"And Daniel."

We both fell silent, then burst out laughing. Yes, there's no way without Dan - he must have known even before we did that there was something going on between us. Although he's a lot closer to Max than he is to me, even in our rare encounters, he treats me like a close friend, not a "loser from the red team."

"Yes, he's our main shipper. He told me about the Lestappens."

"Lesta... who?"

He laughed even harder, more at the look on my face than at the reasonable question. And I really couldn't catch up with what it is.

"Well?"

He took his phone out of his pants pocket and quickly typed something into the search, then handed it to me. On the screen were photos of us from the races, from the podiums, from the track.

"Lestappen. It's you and me together. As a couple."

I flipped through the photos and read their captions, watched animations and videos from interviews. Hell, I didn't even realize we were acting like this in public. I didn't think that all our looks, all our gestures, all our touches are just screaming: "Hello everyone, we are dating, now live with it!". Apparently, half of the fans would say: "Well, finally!" to such a statement from us. And that's funny.

"So we're seen as a couple before we even became one?"

"And we did?"

I kicked him under the table, and he grunted and laughed softly.

"I'm just kidding, just kidding."

"I'm going to dump you for making jokes like that."

"Try it, and then you will be pinned to the wall like your car in the Azerbaijan Grand Prix."

What a dirty move to use my failures against me.

"How long will you hold me against the wall then?"

"Until you agree to date again. And believe me, I know how to make you agree to that."

He looked at me and nodded, as if to indicate the seriousness of his words. Somehow I believe him. I got up and leaned across the table, gave Max a quick smooch, and left our breakfast and lunch table. Even though I don't see him now, I bet he's smiling.

We spent the rest of the day in the hotel room, neither of us having any desire to leave its walls. This room has become our little shelter from the outside world. Here we could be ourselves and not be afraid that paparazzi or someone else will come around the corner, and then we will have to make excuses for the fact that two drivers of famous Formula 1 teams spend time together. They will also say that we are leaking information about the team to each other, so then there will definitely be serious problems.

We spent the whole day in each other's arms, watching some silly romantic comedies, even though we both don't like them very much, playing different games on the gaming console and talking about us, about our new relationship, about how things are going to work out between us now.

We're going to have to hide our relationship, but if that means we can spend time together like this, then hell, I'm ready to play these spy games.

Chapter Text

This hotel in Naples has become my and Charles' little hideaway for the 2 days we both decided to spend in this city. We spent the first day in my...ahem, our room. I like how it sounds - "our room". It makes my heart feel warmer.

We didn't do much those days, just spent almost every minute together - we just enjoyed each other's presence. And kisses. Yes, we kissed a lot. I think there were more kisses that day than in my entire life. At least for me it was like that. And it's pretty damn cool.

We decided to date. We're a couple now. We're just a couple that no one should know about. On the one hand, this is sad, but on the other hand, it evens makes our relationship more...spicy? It's sad that we can't come up at any convenient moment and hug each other, kiss or just smack, we can't call each other an affectionate word. But on the other hand: games of "hide-and-seek" from prying eyes and ambiguous views have always been kinky element of any relationship. But then, when we are alone, we will be able to fully surrender to our feelings.

And I think I finally understood the true meaning of our relationship, which many people describe as "Enemies to lovers". We hated each other only because we craved love. But not just any kind of love. We wanted to be loved. We wanted to find someone who will love us. Love all of us. Someone who saw our worst qualities. Those qualities that we hate in ourselves. We wanted someone to see them and still love us. Both he and I had failed relationships, and our current well-known "real relationship" can also be called as as unsuccessful. We just wanted to be loved. We wanted that comfort. And in the end, we fell in love with each other. Love and hate are just one step apart and vice versa.

We spent the entire second day out of our room: I went to visit my relatives again, and Charles went to his family. I didn't want to go anywhere without him, but if we came together, it would be kind of weird. And I didn't want to accidentally run into someone I knew, well, or some paparazzi, otherwise we'll get bombarded with questions later.

It was an incredibly long day - I went to visit my family, spent some time with them, then did a couple of things in the city, and in the late afternoon I contacted Christian and reported that I was alive, healthy and ready for the race as never before. He praised my enthusiasm and said that when I returned, he would be waiting for me in the "Red Bull" center to discuss strategies for the upcoming Grand Prix. It's just a normal work conversation, but after talking to Christian, I always get a good impression. He doesn't talk to me like to another employee, but like with a son, and I'm grateful for that.

It was almost nine o'clock in the evening when I was completely free, so I went back to the hotel. I opened the door with my key card, and found that Charles was already in the room. He got back before me and had already ordered dinner for us in our room. The Monegasque himself was rummaging in his bag and listening to music on his headphones, so he didn't even hear me enter the room. This is even in my favor.

I quietly approached him from behind and hugged him, and immediately got hit with his elbow.

"Holy shit, Max!"

Charles whirled around and looked at me, half-scared, half-worried, and I was so amused by the whole situation. I wanted to surprise him romantically, but in the end I got hit.

"Damn, I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you. Does it hurt?"

He fussed, and I shook my head and smiled.

"No, no, take it easy. I'm alive and almost whole."

I raised my hands in a conciliatory gesture and laughed.

"But you have good reflexes, good boy."

"Have you forgotten that I'm also a Formula One pilot?"

We both laughed and finally hugged. Yes, honing reflexes is one of the fundamental principles of our work. You need to be able to react quickly to any actions. So yes, I don't have to worry about Charles' reflexes.

"By the way, what are you looking for?"

I nodded at his bag, and he shrugged.

"Yeah, nothing special. I just checked if I had everything packed, because we're leaving in the morning."

"Yes, that's right, I already forgot."

I smiled a little sadly. Tomorrow morning we will have to leave this room, which has become something of a second home for us in such a short time. Tomorrow we will have to go back to our homes, and then get back to our routine - training, meetings and so on. Hello, working life, where there's no place and time for any romance.

We put off packing for later, and started eating dinner instead. Judging by the fact that the food hadn't cooled down yet, Charles had only recently made the order. We sat down at the table and began to eat, simultaneously telling each other about how we had spent the day: he talked about his day, I – about mine.He told me how he went for a walk with his little brother, how he persuaded him to buy him two ice creams, even though his parents forbade him to eat this sweet more than once a day. He told me how he and his brother went to the store to order a new go-kart suit, and at the same time they came up with a new design for the helmet of a young go-kart driver.

He talked about his little brother and smiled, and I couldn't help but smile just listening to his voice. As much as it sounds, Charles the babysitter is a very funny concept. I wonder if he'll kick me if I tease him about it in the future.

After dinner, we decided to take a shower and then finish packing our bags. Although there weren't many things, I still wouldn't want to forget something here. Charles took the shower first, while I gathered my things. I set my bag on the couch next to Monegasque's. One, two, and three T-shirts are folded and put in the bag. I did the same with the pants. Headphones, caps, and other personal items were gradually sent to the open bag.

I bent down to zip up my bag, but my hand brushed Charles's and two small blisters fell out. Pills? Why does he need them?

I took the blisters in my hands and read the names of the drugs – neither the first nor the second name meant anything to me at all. So I took my phone and entered the names in the search. To say that I was surprised is an understatement. Where did he get them from? And why would he even need a tranquilizer and sleeping pills? No, I noticed something was wrong with Charles a long time ago, but I always put it down to the problems in the team, because "Ferrari" can make a fool of anyone with their punctures. I thought it was a sign of fatigue, but no more. But when you're tired, doctor won't prescribe you tranquilizers. And the sleeping pills? Is he having trouble sleeping? He fell asleep pretty quickly yesterday, just like the day before. I don't understand a thing.

I was still holding the blisters when Charles came out of the bathroom. He was smiling, but when he saw the pills in my hands, the smile faded from his lips at the speed of light.

"Did you go through my bag?"

He spoke softly, and his voice sounded so distant. I just shook my head and looked at him.

"Why do you need them?"

"Don't you understand?"

"A question instead of an answer?"

I saw him tense up. He doesn't want to be in this situation, and frankly, I don't either.

"Charles, what's going on with you? Why do you need these pills?"

He began twisting his fingers and biting his lips nervously, as if trying to hide his nervousness, but it doesn't help at all. He took a deep breath and let it out heavily, then sat down on the couch next to me.

"I go to the doctor. I realized a long time ago that I needed the help of a specialist, otherwise I wouldn't be able to get through with everything that's happening to me."

I could see how hard it was for him to talk about his problems, so I kept quiet. It's better to let him tell what he thinks is necessary. I don't want to push him.

"I've developed an anxiety disorder where I can't concentrate on my work, my personal life, or anything else. I found it difficult to fall asleep at night, and insomnia made me even more tired. Even during the races, when everything was going to go to hell again, I thought, "What if I hit that fence now? And if I fly up on this bump, I'll be blown off the track and that's it?". At some point, I just realized that if I left everything as it is, then at one point I would just break down and join the list of "Formula 1 drivers who left us."

I listened carefully to every word he said. Yes, I saw that it was difficult for him, but I didn't think it was so difficult. He did the right thing by asking for help. Such situations shouldn't be left unchecked.

"How long have you been taking them?"

I handed him the blisters, and he looked at them, and after a moment's hesitation, he took them and immediately put them in his bag.

"Since the beginning of the season."

"You mean it's been...six months?"

He nodded silently and lowered his head, covering his face with his hands. I got up from the couch and squatted down in front of him. I gently took his hands in mine and looked at him.

"Charles, if you're worried or anxious about anything, please don't keep it to yourself. Tell me about it. I will be there for you and always support you."

He sighed heavily and bit his lip, then smiled faintly.

"But why? It can be difficult for you too, and all thanks to your dad's upbringing."

I smiled faintly now. Yes, he's right. My psyche is also not healthy, because I experienced a lot of things thanks to my father. "I made you a champion," as he likes to say. But at what cost?

"Because we're a couple. Because we're in love. For the fact that we should be each other's support. Isn't that the foundation of any relationship?"

"But why do you need me like this at all? Aren't you scared that I have some rats in the attic?"

"There's nothing about you that scares me."

I gently pressed my lips against his palms, and he visibly relaxed from the action.

"And my rats are too used to yours."

"Well, you ruined such a moment."

We both laughed softly, and Monegasque leaned forward and hugged me tightly, and I hugged him back. If he only knew that by his mere presence in my life, he literally saved me from what is gnawing at him now. Even before we started getting closer, I still felt a kindred spirit in him and this gave me comfort, because I knew that I was not alone: as rivals in childhood – we were the center of each other's attention, and now – only we can fully understand each other.

So now it's my turn to be his savior and not let the pool of despair drag him to the bottom.

Chapter Text

After a short "vacation", life returned to its former course – trainings, interviews, meetings, races. Although we went home after Naples, Max and I talked to each other by phone every day – text and voice messages, short phone calls during the day and longer ones at night. I rarely let the phone out of my hands, as I mentioned in an interview, so now the phone is really with me 24/7, since I don't want to miss a single call or message from my lover. Damn, it's so funny to realize that I'm in a relationship again. And even funnier is that I'm in a relationship with Max Verstappen. Sometimes it seems to me that it's all somehow unreal. But if this is a dream, then I don't want to wake up. At least not right now.

But life does not stand still, and now it's time for the Hungarian Grand Prix. At first, we had three practice sessions, where the car didn't perform in the worst way. It seems to be good, but I already don't know what to think about it – was it just a luck, or just a moment of joy before a huge failure. Having bitter experience, I still tend to think about the second option.

The second day practice sessions ends with qualifying, where our places will be distributed on the starting grid before the race itself on Sunday. During the race, there were many moments that exasperated not only myself, but also my teammate. After the pit stop, I took the 12th position, so now I will literally have to fight for the opportunity to remain in the top ten as a pilot.

"Keep calm!" - I said on the radio, but inside I was screaming with anger and despair. Why do we never manage to act according to the plan? Carlos went to the pit stop, and now he's 13th. Damn, I hope he manages to get into the top ten.

Another lap and I break out to the 3rd position, but I am literally immediately pushed down by Norris. What have the "McLarens" done with their cars since they've been driving like this lately? I'm not hinting at anything, but some mechanics should learn from them.

Positions change faster than I have time to understand what is happening at all. Sainz was in 13th place, now he's ahead of me. Meanwhile, the first round of qualifying has come to an end and the results are already known: both Williams - Albon and Sargeant were eliminated, also Magnussen, Russell and Tsunoda, were eliminated too. It seems like this is a familiar alignment, but Russell clearly does not fit into the top five at the end. 18th position? Does Mercedes also have the curse of the second driver?

The second round of qualifying has started and we are now 15 drivers on the track. The fight for positions began literally immediately, and along with the fight, alerts from the stewards flew: Bottas and Stroll collided in the first minute of the race, then Verstappen set the best lap time, but his time was immediately deleted, as he entered the 5th turn too wide. And again, the positions changed so quickly that it was impossible to keep track of everyone on the track. It was even difficult to understand what position you were in. The second round flew by somehow too quickly and we have already been informed of the results: both Alpins are out - Gasly and Okon, Stroll, Ricciardo and, what is the saddest thing for me personally, Sainz. He lost to Alonso by only 0.002 seconds. I'm shocked by this result, but I can imagine how shocked Carlos himself is – he crashed out in the second round of races for the first time in a long time.

But time is running out and the third round of qualifying races has already begun – now there are only 10 of us left on the track. "Let the Hunger Games begin," I said to myself. Now I have to "drag" the team, because only my car remained in the top ten. The race has started and the first results are already appearing: Perez puts the best lap, but he is immediately interrupted by Norris. Verstappen does not let himself be forgotten and immediately sets the best time, pushing Lando and Sergio lower. Lewis is literally right next to Max, and now Perez is already in 4th position, right in front of me. Pit stop again and back to the track, we drove like crazies and now the latest results are already known: the first is Lewis, the second is Max, the third is Lando. I finished the race in sixth position – right between two Alfa-Romeos: Zhou in fifth position, Bottas in seventh.

I don't even know what emotions I feel at the end of the race. I am disappointed. Damn it, I'm disappointed and angry. Sixth position, and not only that – Zhou overtook me! Zhou! Damn, when did he even make it to the top ten? He usually is out in the first round of qualification, and here he is - in fifth place. I wonder if I'm the only one ashamed of this, or will the team also decide that something needs to be done with the car? It's probably only me who cares. Fuck!

The qualifying race was not the best one, because I finished in 6th position, and my teammate Carlos - in 11th. Am I disappointed? Of course. Am I angry? Sure I am! Can I give myself free rein and break down, yell at the top of my lungs and destroy everything around? No. I promised. I promised that I would tell Max about everything that bothers me – about my feelings, desires, emotions, impulses. But now is not the best time to talk about me and my feelings, because he himself is probably lousy right now.

I drove into the box, got out of my car and, taking off my helmet and balaclava on the go, immediately went to my cooling room so as not to snap at someone. While I was walking, I heard that everyone was discussing the phenomenal result of Alfa Romeo and the fact that Lewis was ahead of Max by only 0.003 seconds. What's wrong with today's results? Carlos was overtaken by 0.002 seconds, now Max and 0.003. At such moments it seems that this is not a real race, but some kind of stupid game on the gaming console.

I can imagine how angry Max is right now. But I am more than sure that he is angry not because he took second position – he started from further positions and still won races; he is angry because he was overtaken by Hamilton – the one with whom he has had a real feud since 2021. Yes, Max competes with everyone, but he is at enmity only with him.

It sucks for me right now, but I'd rather go to Max's room and talk to him, maybe I can calm him down or comfort him. Anyway, when we meet, I immediately feel calmer by just seeing and understanding that everything is fine with him. The world then becomes less shitty, and life itself becomes more tolerant.

I went into my cooling room and threw my helmet with a balaclava on a small couch, then unbuttoned the upper part of the racing suit and finally was able to exhale. How I love and hate racing at the same time. I love this adrenaline, I love speed, I love the spirit of competition. And I hate the fact that I am unlucky, that with my failures I let down not only myself, but also the team and the fans. I can imagine what happens in socials after each race, since even on the team's "Instagram" page, under each announcement of the next Grand Prix, people write that they don't expect anything but another failure from us anymore. This is sad, but what else could you expect with such results from race to race?

After sitting in my room for a while and putting myself and my thoughts in order, if I can say so at all, I still decided to go to Max and check on him. Some time has already passed since the end of the race, so there should not be reporters and photographers nearby. I just hope Max is in his room.

I didn't change after the race, also I don't have to hurry anywhere, so I left my room and walked down the corridor to the place where, in fact, Verstappen should rest, unless he has already left here. On the way, I met the guys from "Alfa Romeo" and congratulated them on the amazing result, although I had two feelings fighting inside: on the one hand, I'm really happy for them, but on the other - even they managed to overtake the "Ferrari", which no longer hints, but screams that we don't have cars, but real shitboxes. After exchanging a couple of phrases, I asked them about Max, but both Zhou and Bottas both didn't know whether he was in his room or not. Well, I'll go and find out now.

When I reached his room, which turned out to be in a remote part of the corridor, because most of the pilots and staff had already left, I noticed that the door was ajar, and loud voices were coming from inside. Well, not voices... a voice. The voice of the one who fucked up my boyfriend's psyche, and who now believes that he owes him everything. I wanted to go in, but instead decided to listen to what Verstappen Sr. was saying.

"I don't care that the difference between you and him is only 0.003 seconds. You're the best. You should've been the first. Do you hear me? You. Must. Have. Been. First. And I don't care if it's a qualification. Are you going to start merging them first, and then you're going to show a shitty result at the races?"

Is he seriously scolding Max for finishing second? Just like when we were kids? When we were kids? And what is this stupid "you must have been first"? He is an adult and this is his life. How dare he telling him off for what happened by pure chance?

"Dad, I..."

"Shut up and listen to me."

I cautiously peeked through the door opening and saw Max in the reflection of the mirror: he was sitting on a chair with his head down like a guilty child and no longer even tried to object to his father, who continued to scold him in raised tones.

"You understand that each, I repeat, each race is not just some points for you, it is what shows your status in the races. And you decided to let things take their course? Or what?"

I picked up my phone and quickly typed a short message to Max.

Me:

"Max, do you need help?"

His phone immediately beeped, notifying him of an incoming message, and I saw in the mirror how Max first got confused and patted his pockets, as if looking for a phone, and then reached to the table for a phone, but he immediately received a slap on the hand from his father.

"What the hell? Are you listening to what I'm telling you, or is your stupid phone more important to you? Anyway, who can write to you? Nobody needs you."

His father chuckled, and Max visibly flinched at these words. My heart sank at the sight of him now, and I was about to rush into the room to stop this disgusting execution, when someone's hand fell on my shoulder. I startled and looked around - it was Carlos and Lando.

"Lord Perceval, what are you doing here?"

"Are you looking for Max?"

They laughed, and I immediately covered their mouths with my hands and shushed them. I nodded towards the half-open door to the Dutchman's room. The guys fell silent and looked at me questioningly, and I didn't know what to say to them, so I said everything as it is.

"I wanted to check on Max, but now Jos is there and, apparently, everything is very bad."

"But why would you want to check on him at all?"

Lando's question was so out of time, because it's harder to come up with a lie on the go, especially in a situation like this, than to tell the truth. I hesitated, because no one knows about my relationship with Max. Well, except for Daniel. Maybe.

"Because...because we're dating."

I blurted out, and Carlos was about to scream like a wounded seagull, but caught himself in time and smiled triumphantly, shoving Lando in the shoulder.

"I told you so! I told you so!"

Lando rolled his eyes and sighed, then raised his hands in a defeated gesture. I didn't understand what was going on here, so now I stared at this couple questioningly.

"Well, Lando and I argued whether you and Max are in a relationship or not. He said no, although he doubted it, and I was sure that yes. And I was right! How could I not know this about my teammate, yes, Percival?"

I wanted to express my indignation to these two, but again I heard the voice of Verstappen Sr. coming from Max's room.

"We'll discuss it later, but now I have to go."

"Hey, where are you go-..."

No longer listening to anyone, I unceremoniously walked into Max's room and, paying absolutely zero attention to the presence and indignation of his father, approached him, squatted down in front of him and took his hands in mine.

"Hey, Max, it's me. I'm here."

He looked at me with such a haunted look that I wanted to immediately protect him from the whole world. I held his hands tightly, and he squeezed them with his own, as if clinging to a lifejacket.

"What the hell is going on?! What are you doing here? Get the hell out! Now!"

His father came up to me and forcefully pulled on my shoulder that I could barely stand on my feet. But thanks to the fact that I am good at keeping my balance, I did not fall, but only staggered back and immediately jumped to my feet.

"Do you hear? Get out of here, you fucking Frenchman!"

"First of all, I am a Monegasque. Secondly, you need to get out of here."

I turned to face Verstappen Sr., as if covering Max with myself, and tried to speak as calmly as possible – passive aggression is the best option sometimes, although in this case I highly doubt it.

"Who are you to tell me what to do? Get out of here! I need to talk to my son, and no one needs the help of a damn Frenchmen here!"

Max's father continued to speak in raised tones, and began to point me to the door, which I decided not to pay attention to and only grinned, and then returned to Max, who seemed ready to lose consciousness from the stress.

"Max, come with me? You don't have to stay quiet, and you don't have to listen to all this bullshit of a narcissist dad."

"Who do you think you are?! This is my son and I can talk to him as I want, but he must shut up, listen to me and obey!"

I began to feel that I would start to break down soon. Yes, I promised Max I wouldn't do it, but anyone, even someone as calm as me, has a limit. And mine is about to be reached.

"First of all, he is a living person, and he doesn't have to obey your stupid orders!"

I stood in front of Max's father again and didn't notice how I began to speak in raised tones.

"He's not a fucking robot to who you can give orders all the time. He is no longer the child to whom you have already ruined his entire childhood because of your moronic ambitions!"

"I made him the champion! Thanks to me he's at the top of his fame now! He owes all this to me and only to me! I taught him everything!"

"He deserved it all with his own work and talent, just like any other pilot in the peloton! He deserved it all with his drive and desire to become the best. He deserved it all with his desire for victories. And you... the only thing you gave him is a bunch of psychological traumas, which he barely copes with himself. But now... now he's not alone."

I saw confusion on Jos's face, but it quickly evaporated and was replaced by the same anger. I crossed my arms on my chest and, looking intently into his eyes, grinned and said in a completely calm tone:

"He gets more points in one race than you have in all your 8 seasons in "Formula". So what did you teach him there?"

Max's father was silent, but I literally felt that he was barely restraining himself from breaking down once again and punch me. He literally glared at me, and I wasn't scared at all.

"You don't deserve a son like Max."

I said it firmly, and Jos had already raised his hand to either punch me or hit the wall next to me, and the first option still seems more plausible. I didn't even move, when Carlos and Lando ran into the room.

"Hey, hey, hey! Este tío está chalado!"

Carlos grabbed Jos's hand, and Lando stepped between me and Max's father. It turns out they were standing behind the door all the time. Eavesdropping? Or just decided to stay there just in case? In any case, I was glad to see them.

"Charles, is Max okay?"

I shuddered, and immediately returned to Max, who, it seems, didn't react to anything or anyone at all. Did he retreated into himself because of stress? Quite possibly. I leaned forward and hugged him, and he literally clung to me, hugging me with such force that it seemed to me that my ribs were about to crack.

"Max? Max, it's me. Relax, everything is fine."

It was as if he didn't hear me, but just hugged me tightly and I felt how tense he was. He's like a taut string that's about to break.

"What the...What the hell are you..."

Jos wanted to start objecting again, but Carlos interrupted him in mid-sentence and was already showing him at the door.

"Get out! Vete de aquí! Vete! Vete! Vete! "

Realizing that he couldn't break through three people, Max's father glared at us angrily and silently left the room. I was still squatting in front of Max, hugging him tightly and trying to bring him back to his senses, although I could feel my heart pounding in my chest because of everything that had happened.

"Hey, guys, how are you?"

"Do you need help? Max, how are you?"

Max didn't react at all to Carlos and Lando's words. I don't think he heard me either – he's definitely in shock. I turned my head to the side and looked gratefully at the guys.

"Thank you for intervening. I don't even know what would have started here if you two weren't here."

"Come on, how could we leave you here?"

"Yes, yes, how am I going to drive without a partner then?"

We laughed softly and, it seems, Max began to slowly relax, as his grip became a little weaker. I looked at the Dutchman with a slight smile and gently patted his hair.

"It's okay, we're here. We won't let him offend you."

I kissed Max briefly on the forehead, as my mother used to do when I was a child to calm me down. The guys clearly felt superfluous in the room and were about to leave when Max finally told:

"Thanks. All of you."

He spoke softly and looked at the three of us. The look was no longer so hunted, but rather tired. Damn it, did he really have to go through this regularly? How is he holding on at all?

"It's nothing. You can always rely on us."

Lando smiled encouragingly, and Carlos nodded, as if to confirm the words of his mate.

"You have a lot to talk about. So we'd better go. Vamos, Lando."

The guys waved goodbye to us and left the room, this time closing the door behind them. We were left alone in this small room, where just a couple of minutes ago such passions were raging that any Mexican TV series would envy.

"Max, how are you? Have you come to your senses?"

I asked quietly and ran the back of my hand over the Dutchman's cheek. He nodded uncertainly in response and took my hand in his.

"Thank you for coming."

"You didn't answer the message, so I decided to act."

"What message?"

Max at first did not understand what message I was talking about, but then he smiled. It seems that he still remembered that he received a message that he never opened.

"That's what happens if you ignore your Monegasque boyfriend."

We laughed softly and as soon as Max released me, I got to my feet and held out my hand to him.

"Get up, it's time to get out of here and clear our heads."

Verstappen smiled sadly and nodded, then took my hand and got up from his chair.

"Hey, you're going to win tomorrow, I believe in you."

I spoke softly and gently touched his lips with mine, but not kissing him, but only pressing my lips to his. He smiled again, but his smile was no longer so tortured, but more... calm? Happy? Peaceful? I don't know what words could describe it, but there was no sadness in it.

I didn't want to leave Max alone, so I offered to stay with him while he was getting ready, to which he agreed. I'll be his bodyguard, so to speak. He was packing his few belongings into a backpack with "Red Bul"l symbols, and I was sitting on a small sofa and watching him from the side.

It seems that only now he began to really come to his senses, because he became more concentrated in his actions, and his body language said that he finally managed to relax.

"Max, why didn't you say anything?"

I don't know why I was tempted to ask about it. Why now? Charles, clever ideas were chasing you, but you were faster, right?

Verstappen shrugged and looked at me.

"I don't know. I've been like this since childhood. It's easier for me to be silent and endure everything. In such moments, I seem to...switch off? Well, just like a computer when it overheats from a bunch of running processes."

"Or like the "HAAS" engine on the "Red Bull Ring"."

We both laughed, and it became clear to me that the old Max was back again in the fullest sense of the word. And I'm glad to see him laughing. I want to see him like this more often.

We exchanged a few phrases while he was getting ready and changing behind the partition. In general, we can't be in each other's rooms – we're in the rival teams, after all. But now there is practically no one in the building, so we don't have to be afraid of being caught by one of employees or other teams.

After collecting all his things, Max took his backpack and looked at me with a smile.

"Let's go? You need to get your things too."

I completely forgot about the fact that I hadn't changed my clothes - I was still sitting in my racing suit, unbuttoned and half-lowered, and in a T-shirt.

"Um... are you coming with me?"

Max immediately nodded, as if it was a matter of course. I smiled and got up from his couch, then proceeded to the door.

"Well, let's go then."

I cautiously opened the door and looked out of the Dutchman's room - although it should be empty here, but it's still worth checking if the horizon is clear. Max laughed softly and lightly touched my shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm checking if the path is clear."

We laughed softly, like teenagers who were afraid that their parents would catch them while doing something illegal, and as soon as we made sure that the corridor was empty, we left the room.

My room is not so far, because the boxes of our teams are quite close, so soon we were already in my territory. Max sat down on my sofa while I was packing my things, as he had done at his place literally fifteen minutes ago. We chatted, joked, teased each other - the atmosphere became completely different, so light and calm.

It didn't take long for me to get ready and change clothes, so soon we were on our way out of the building. After leaving him, I gave Max a "friendly" hug and we went to our cars. But before starting the engine of my transport, I took out my phone and wrote a short message to Max.

Me:

"Remember, I'm always there for you❤️"

Probably the first time I sent him a heart in a message. It's so weird, but it's kind of cute. Before I could get out of my thoughts, my phone beeped, notifying me of an incoming message.

Max:

"Thank you. And I'm always with you. Remember this too💙"

A blue heart? I laughed when I noticed this funny feature: the red heart is a Ferrari, the blue one is a Red Bull. Now these are the official colors of our relationship.

Smiling, I started the car and went to the hotel. Anyway, I need to rest after everything that happened today, because tomorrow is the race, and I have to be ready for it.

Chapter Text

I woke up with a terrible headache. Nevertheless, yesterday's situation with my dad and nervous overstrain aren't my best friends. But today is not the right day for this at all – the race is ahead. How can I get myself together, both physically and mentally, if my head hurts like it was hit with a huge sledgehammer all night?

I took my phone off the shelf and read a message from Charles. I knew that a message from him would already be waiting for me – this is the first thing I've been reading every morning for... a week? Probably, yes. That's how long we've been in our secret relationship.

Charles:

"Good morning, babe❤".

Such messages have become something of a tradition for us. We always send each other good morning wishes as soon as we wake up, and good night when we go to bed. But recently, or to be more precise, since yesterday evening, a heart has also been added to the simple text: from Charles - red, from me - blue. Why is that? Probably because of the colors of our teams. This is our "color code", if I can call it that.

I smiled after reading his message and immediately sent my reply.

Me:

«Good morning, hun💙."

After lying in bed for a while, I got up and started all my morning chores. I need to eat something and take a shower before leaving for the track. I've finished with all these procedures quite fast and I've done it almost mechanically – I always do the same on the race day.

On the way to the track, I remembered what happened yesterday in my cooling room and replayed in my head the moment when I was ready to snap at my father. As strange as it may sound, Charles was partly the reason for this. I don't know if he heard us at that moment, but I hope not.

--- Flashback ---

I sat in front of my father and just listened to him scolding and humiliating me because of the damn second place. Can't he understand that it's not my fault? And it's just a qualification! My position on the starting grid doesn't matter to me at all - I can start from any position and still come first. So why is he so pissed off because of the second place and these fucking 0.003?

He kept talking, periodically switching to shouting, but it was as if I had already zoned out and didn't even really understand where I was and what was going on. I "woke up" when my phone beeped, notifying me of a new message. At moments like this, I am glad that only the sender's name is seen in the notifications, and not the message text itself.

At first, I was confused, checked my pockets, because I usually leave my phone there, and try not to leave my phone somewhere, especially since Charles and I started dating. I looked at the table and reached for my phone, but immediately got slapped on the hand from my father.

"What the hell? Are you listening to what I'm telling you, or is your stupid phone more important to you? Anyway, who can write to you? Nobody needs you."

My father chuckled, and I shuddered. "Nobody needs you." He's been telling me this all my life, just like the fact that I shouldn't have friends. "They all will be jealous of your career, you don't need them. They will take advantage of you and leave you, because no one will need you." He repeated it to me day after day, like some stupid mantra. It was hard for me not to believe it, but now I was sure it wasn't true. I'm needed. Mom needs it. My sister needs me. Charles needs me.

I missed the moment when my father looked at the screen of my phone and raised his eyebrows.

"Whe the hell is this fucking French writing to you?"

"Monegasque."

I quietly objected to my father, probably for the first time in a long time. I myself did not expect that I would even say a word to him, it seemed to fly out by itself.

"What did you say?"

I hesitated, but I answered my father again.

"He is a Monegasque, not a French."

My father seemed more surprised that I said something in response to him than that we just mentioned the pilot from the rival team. Maybe it's for the best.

"I don't give a fucking damn about who he is – a weird frogeater or someone else. Why the fuck is he texting you at all?"

I didn't want to answer that question. I didn't want to betray my relationship with Charles, especially to him. I know how he will react to the news that his son is in a relationship with a "Ferrari" driver. I knew all his reactions, that's why I was silent.

"He's not your friend. He's the same as the others – he wants to sneak up on you and beat you professionally. He'll dump you at the first opportunity. You can't have friends. Do you understand? So finish this circus with communicating with this scum and pull yourself together. And don't you dare embarrass me tomorrow."

I was still sitting and silently listening to another stream of angry speech from my father, when Charles literally burst into the room and, completely ignoring my father, he came up to me, squatted in front of me and took my hands in his.

"Hey, Max, it's me. I'm here."

I don't know what he saw in my eyes, but he suddenly became...such...it was as if he was ready to rush into battle at the first opportunity. I've only seen him like this a couple of times after races, when his team let him down once again, and he couldn't do anything about it.

And now he was squatting in front of me, holding my palms tightly, and I squeezed them with my own in response. At that moment, he was like a lifejacket for me, who's not allowing me to completely drown into myself.

I remember the rest very vaguely – I only remember how my father and Charles began to swear, and my father was shocked that someone dares to contradict him and who isn't afraid of his person. I remember how my father took a swing at Charles, and I sat in a complete shock and didn't know what to do. I remember at some point Carlos and Lando appeared in the room. I remember how they literally kicked my father out of the room, and they stayed for a while longer, as if they were making sure that everything was okay. I'm so damn grateful to them for that. Although deep down I understand perfectly well that in fact they did this not because of me, but because of Charles, but I am grateful to them anyway.

--- End of flashback ---

Arriving at the track, I immediately went to my team – it's time to prepare for the race. I was handed a notebook with the entire strategy for the race, pit stop plans, a description of weather conditions and so on - all according to the standard. I flipped through the notebook, hastily reading, though rather just looking through the notes, and began to change clothes. I pulled on my thermal suit, and then my racing suit, grabbed a balaclava and my helmet – white with an orange lion on top.

There wasn't much time left before the race, so I took my phone and texted my main rival, and also my lover, Charles.

Me:

"See you on the pole."

I really want him to take pole today. In general, I want him to take pole every race, but, unfortunately, the reality is that his team is unlikely to figure out how to improve their cars so that they become more competitive.

Charles:

"Yes! And who knows, maybe today instead of the Dutch anthem, we will hear the Monaco anthem :D"

I smiled. Yes, hope dies last, that's a fact. Charles starts every race with the hope that he has a chance to win, but in the middle of the race, some nonsense begins and all his hopes crumble like a snap of his fingers. Like Thanos was one of "Ferrari's" strategists, and he snaps his Infinity Gauntlet when he sees that Charles or Carlos has even smallest chances for the pole. I feel terribly sorry for them, that's why I'm pushing Charles to move from "Ferrari" to our team. Although everyone knows Charles: he is a man of his word and will not leave the team until he becomes their champion, that means, that he's stuck with them until the end of his career.

I wanna win today. I don't want to win to amuse my ego, no. I want to win to prove to my father that I can win without his instructions before the race.

The time of the race was approaching and now all the cars began to gradually appear on the starting grid. I adjusted my earpiece, pulled on my balaclava and helmet, then got into my car. Well, it's time to take another pole and add another cup in my collection.

All the cars have already left the pits and lined up for the warm-up lap. Today I'm starting from the second position, but it doesn't bother me at all. Yesterday I was angry about it, but after what happened in the cooling room after qualifying, I frankly didn't care about it. Lewis starts from the first position? Let him start. On the first lap, he will lose his position anyway. Does that sound cocky? Yes. Unreasonable? No.

After passing the warm-up lap, all the cars took their places on the starting grid. The countdown began: three, two, one and "Lights out and away we go". I immediately pressed the gas pedal and at the first corner Sir Lewis Hamilton lost his first position, but that's not it – "McLaren" lowered him two more lines and now he is not the first, but the fourth. Actually, that's what I was talking about.

As I understand, there was a collision at the very first corner – both "Alpin" cars were damaged by colliding... with each other? I wonder if the damage is severe or will they continue the race? After some time, I was informed by radio that both Pierre and Esteban dropped out of the race – damage to both cars doesn't allow them to continue the race. A shitty start to the race, nothing to say.

Meanwhile, I had already pulled away from Oscar for a second, followed by Lando, Lewis and both "Ferraris". Charles started from the sixth position, but I really hope that he will be able to win back and one of the poles will still be his.

We've already driven eight laps and I'm already 2.4 seconds ahead from one of the "McLarens." The radio is broadcasting about the collision on the first lap – it turns out that Zhou and Daniel are also involved there. I wonder if everything will work out or will they get fines? My teammate is fighting for positions with both "Ferraris", and it will be difficult for him – none of them is going to give in.

On the thirteenth lap, my lead from Oscar was already 4.8 seconds. After a couple of laps, I noticed that one "Ferrari" car went to a pit stop. If I'm not mistaken, it was Carlos. Soon their second car went to a pit stop, and I was informed by radio that their stop took 9.4 seconds. 9.4 seconds? I can imagine how Charles feels right now. The team once again showed what clowns they are, and how they treat their pilots. At moments like this, I want to tell my Monegasque that I want to love him as much as his team hates him. But I'm afraid he'll take it the wrong way, so I remain silent. I'm silent...again.

I went into a big gap from the rest of the drivers, so on the twenty-third lap I calmly went to the pit stop. After leaving the pit stop, I returned to the race, where Sergio had already overtaken Charles, and soon Carlos. So now the main threat to the Spaniard was his teammate – Charles.

For me, the main threat, if you can call them that, remains two "McLaren" cars: I'm ahead of Lando by 6.8 seconds, and Oscar is following him. The laps fly by like lightning, and now I see Charles going to the pit stop for the second time. The mechanic on the radio reports that Leclerc was awarded a fine for speeding in the pit lane. At first, he had a terrible pit stop, and during the second he earned a penalty that will roll him even lower in positions. What is going on there?

At the end of the fifty-first lap, I went to the pit stop again, but when I returned to the track, I still had a 12–second advantage over the driver in second position - Lando from "McLaren". Lap after lap, my advantage only increases, and now I'm already crossing the finish line – another pole on my account, it's the twelfth in a row for the team. Lando came second, and Sergio came third. Charles, taking into account the five-second penalty, took only the seventh position.

After the victory, I had a moment take my phone, so I immediately texted Charles.

Me:

"Wanna talk a bit?"

But he wasn't responding. He probably hasn't picked up the phone yet. Maybe he just hasn't returned to box yet? Although it would be strange, his car is already in place. Probably he decided to go and argue with the team once again. But after a while, I received a message from Charles.

Charles:

"Sorry, I'm not in the mood for talking. I need to calm down a bit. Can we talk a little bit later?"

Me:

"Yes, sure"

I understood Charles perfectly – I would've been terribly angry myself if my team had done nothing but let me down from one race to the next.

Charles:

"And congratulations with another pole❤"

And again the red heart. He's angry, I understand, but putting a heart in certain messages is now a tradition for us. Messages with support, congratulations and wishes – that's something we can't live without.

Me:

"Thank you 💙"

I sent a message and went on to "celebrate the victory according to the rules". Photos, champagne fountains, interviews – everything as always. And Lando broke my trophy – it happened by accident, but now it will be another reason for jokes both between us and in the press.

After celebrating the victory with the team, I returned to the hotel. It wasn't that late yet, so I took a shower, and then I decided to text Charles again anyway.

Me:

"You're free to talk now?"

It's a stupid question, I know, but I wouldn't want to interrupt him if he's busy with something. Although, what can he be doing now? And in general, maybe he has already left for Monaco? I think he would have told me, because we always tell things like this to each other. While I was thinking, I received an answer from my Monegasque.

Charles:

"Yeap. Wanna talk?"

Without even thinking, I immediately called Charles on "Facetime". As soon as I pressed the call started, he immediately answered and now I can already see his tired, but so cute face on the screen. Yes, even tired, he seems to me to be attractive as hell. It seems to me that I will never stop admiring his green eyes, his cute moles – both the one on the cheek and the one under the eye.

Charles and I chatted about what happened at the races – about the collision of two "Alpines", in which the pilots from "Alfa Romeo" and "AlfaTauri" were also involved, about his nightmarish pit stop that lasted 9.4 seconds, about his five-second penalty. It turns out that he also had no water throughout the race. More precisely, he has water in car, but the tube was too short, and he just couldn't reach it – in fact, he really was without water. I was shocked with the carelessness of his team. Do they really hate their pilots that much?

I tried to support him, although I just wanted to hug him and sit with him in a hug until the morning. I am more than sure that both he and I would feel much calmer – all the problems would immediately go away. By the way, Charles did not fly to Monaco, he decided to stay here overnight and fly home in the morning. So he's either in my hotel or in some other hotel nearby. This fact made me a little bit happier.

Soon our topics of conversation moved away from racing, especially from the latter one. Yes, it was a success for me, but it was devastating for him, so it's better not to mention it once again. At some point, Charles suggested watching a movie together.

"But how? We're not together right now."

"I'll send you link for an app, you download it, and we can watch the movie together, but also chat while watching."

"Actually, I was hoping that you would invite me to your room, but if you want to watch it through the app..."

We laughed, and Monegasque thought for a second and bit his lip, then, looking at me through the screen, nodded.

"Room "902". At your hotel. I'll be waiting for you, champ."

He winked and dropped the call. Wait, what? Did he seriously call me to his room like that? And he's staying at my hotel?! I am outraged, but also terribly glad, so I didn't hesitate: I quickly went and took clean clothes from my, quickly changed and then went to the mirror and made sure that I looked fine. I grabbed my phone and then left my room.

When I reached the elevator, I pressed the button for the ninth floor. Being in this elevator alone, for some reason was a little bit uncomfortable for me. Still, I'm not a fan of closed spaces, and if I consider that this particular "closed space" is going higher and higher, then my discomfort can be quite justified.

When I got to the right floor, I went to the door of room "902". I experienced a certain déjà vu – I had already stood like this at the door of Charles' room once, but in the end I turned around and left. But I'm not leaving this time. For some reason, I'm a little bit worried, but this time I won't be a coward and I definitely won't turn around at the last moment. I raised my hand and knocked on the door. The door didn't open immediately, but as soon as Charles appeared in the doorway, he grabbed my T-shirt with his hands and pulled me into the room.

Chapter Text

After the video call with Max, I don't know why, but I was so worried, as if I was preparing for a first date with the love of my life. I feel like a teenager, who is patiently waiting for a handsome high school student to come, haha. Putting the phone down, I immediately went to the mirror and checked how I looked - yes, he had just seen me on video, but video is one thing, but seeing live is quite different. Well explained, just divine, keep it up, Charles!

But what if he doesn't come? He and the team celebrated the victory today, maybe he was tired and decided to just go to bed? What if I dropped the call so quickly that he just didn't have time to say no? But then he would have written a message. Well, I think he would.

I immediately picked up my phone to check for new messages from the Dutchman, but there was not a single message notification at all. Well, at least there were no messages from Max, that's for sure. So, is he still coming? Then why isn't he already here? To come from his floor to mine clearly does not take ten minutes.

Yes, when I returned to the hotel, I found out in advance which room Verstappen was staying in. A couple of smiles to the girl at the reception desk, and she blurted out all the information to me: the floor, when he checked in and when he was going to check out. He's staying on the seventh floor, me – on the ninth, then why it took so long for him to get here?

While I was thinking about it, I heard a knock on the door of my room. Did he really come? Damn, I think I'm sweating because of excitement and a little bit of anxiety. Charles, exhale and pull yourself together already! Why am I so worried? It's not the first time we're meeting each other. And it's not the first time we're alone, either.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and went to the door. I took a deep breath, as if it would help me calm down, and opened the door.

He was standing on the threshold and, as it seemed to me, was as nervous as I was. And, as I immediately noticed, he changed his clothes. Is that why it took him so long to get to my room? He wanted to look attractive? Although for this he does not need any clothes at all.

I don't know why, but I grabbed the bottom of Max's T-shirt with my fingers and literally dragged him into my room, and as soon as the door slammed behind him, I hugged him by the shoulders and kissed his lips with a greedy kiss.

Max kissed me back ad hugged me tightly, put his hands around my waist, and pushed me closer to him. What the hell did I acted like that? I don't know. I don't want to think about it now. And I don't want to stop us. Not tonight. Not when he's so close. Tonight we can not be afraid of being caught and give ourselves to each other completely.

With clumsy steps we knocked down a floor lamp, and while kissing, we reached the bed and collapsed on it - I fell on the back, and Max fell on me. I was so pleased to feel the weight of his body on me that I involuntarily moaned softly into the kiss.

Max, hearing my moan, grinned and bit my lower lip, but not painfully, but rather teasingly. I smiled slyly in response and abruptly changed our position - now he was on his back, and I was saddling his hips.

I immediately bent down and started to kiss his neck - I kissed every millimeter of his neck, occasionally biting, but trying not to leave visible marks. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back and ran his palm into my hair, then lightly pulled them, to which I quietly exhaled and, pulling the collar of his T-shirt lower, left another bite on his collarbone. And I guess the mark from this one will be visible for a few days. But I don't care now.

With his free hand, Max pulled my T-shirt up, and I did not hesitate and helped him pull it off, then throwing it on the floor.

Soon my T-shirt was joined by the Dutchman's one, and we again kissed each other's lips, kissing greedily, intemperately, as if this would never happen again.

We bit each other's lips, and our hands wandered over each other's bodies. I felt how hard Max was, but let's be honest – I'm hard now too. We broke our kiss only to inhale air or place some kisses onto the neck, shoulders, collarbone - wherever we could reach.

Soon the rest of our clothes joined the T-shirts on the floor. We were completely naked in bed in my hotel room. It may be strange, but there was no embarrassment between us, there was only passion and...desire. The desire to become closer, the desire to merge together, the desire to give yourself completely and get the same in return.

I was on my back again, and Max was hanging over me from above. He bit my lower lip and pulled it slightly towards him, after which he quietly asked in a voice hoarse with excitement:

"Are you sure you want this?"

Damn, his hoarse voice turns me on even more, how it's even possible? Instead of answering, I just nodded, because words are superfluous now. Yes, I want him. And I'm sure he wants me, too. He also wants and is already ready to go further than just kissing in our relationship.

He ran his palm over my cheek, and then gently traced the contour of my lips with his fingers. I smiled a little and licked his fingers, but then I took them in my mouth and began to suck, throwing nasty glances at Max.

He looked at me with visible surprise, because he clearly did not expect such a maneuver from a modest man, and smiled contentedly. Then he reached for the bedside table - there, even in luxury hotels, you can often find the things you need for intimacy.

Finding a small tube of lubricant and a condom there, he smiled triumphantly. He put them aside and gently took his fingers out of my mouth. Max began to cover my neck and shoulders with kisses, thereby distracting from the process of preparing my body for further actions.

He did everything so carefully, trying to cause as little discomfort as possible, but my body seemed to burn from his kisses and touches, and I couldn't stand it anymore. I want him. And I want him now.

I gently bit his earlobe and whispered in a hoarse voice:

"J'ai vraiment envie de toi maintenant"

Max visibly shuddered, either from my voice or from the phrase, and it seemed to me that the fire of passion was rekindled in him. I need to tell him phrases in French more often. He took a square of foil and pulled a condom on his erect penis. I watched him with interest, I didn't want to miss even the smallest and insignificant details now – this is our first time, and I want to remember all the details.

He leaned over to me again and kissed me briefly on my lower lip, and with his hands he pulled me closer to his hips. I immediately wrapped my arms around his shoulders and nodded slightly, as if signaling to Max that I was ready.

Max understood me without further words, and, kissing me once again, he began to make short and careful thrusts, gradually entering my body. I groaned and broke the kiss, threw my head back and closed my eyes. Max began to kiss and bite my neck easily, while continuing his thrusts at the same time. I gripped his shoulders tightly with my hands, digging my short nails under the skin, which will definitely leave traces later.

Finally, getting used to the feelings and getting another nod from me, Max began to move more confidently - gradually his thrusts became faster and my moans louder.

"Plus fort, continue comme ça!"

I groaned hoarsely, and Max began to move harder, as if understanding my words. I ran my hands over his back and scratched the skin and leaving long traces. We tore kisses from each other's lips, moaned, sometimes I screamed from pleasure and slight pain mixed together, and he immediately covered my lips with his, as if trying to drown out my screams so that no one would hear us.

We didn't have sex, we made love. We've been guided not just by impulses or desire to take over each other, but by the most real feelings. We moaned in unison, changed poses one after another, licked salty drops of sweat from each other's neck, bit each other, as if those bite marks will secretly mean "he is mine." And we didn't care that only we would know about the sacred meaning of these marks. This is our little secret. Another one secret.

We both ran out of strength only closer to morning. This night was entirely ours, just as we belonged only to each other. Having enjoyed our closeness to the fullest, we collapsed exhausted into each other's arms and, after exchanging only short phrases and some short kisses, we fell asleep.

Chapter Text

The morning after the Grand Prix usually begins with the fact that before pilots check out from the hotel, we meet with other pilots in the lobby just to say goodbye - we are all rivals, not enemies, but some of us are even friends. Sports competition should not harm our amistad.

I always get up before my compañero, so it's my sacred duty to get to this hotel room and make him get out of bed before the time comes to meet in the lobby.

Since I am not such a dormouse as my amigo, I have already managed to take a shower and have breakfast. However, I had breakfast in the room, and not in the cafe downstairs - I prefer to start the morning with a quiet breakfast with soothing notes of jazz, rather than pop music in a frequently crowded cafe.

I looked in the mirror before going to the Monegasque room, straightened my slightly disheveled hair and left my habitación. It's good that our rooms are on the same floor - he is in the room "902", and I settled in room "907". Not too close, not too far. Perfecto.

A couple of minutes later I was already at the door of my compañero. I listened - I didn't hear a sound outside his room. It's already nine in the morning, the meeting is at eleven. Two hours for breakfast and packing, I think, would be enough for him.

I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I waited a bit and knocked a couple more times.

"Abre esta puerta ahora mismo, lord Perceval!"

Yes, a hot Spaniard like me cannot be stopped by a simple door. So I continued to knock on his door.

"Lord Perceval, open up! You know I'm not leaving!"

And I'm not leaving. I will achieve my goal and make this sleepy Monegasque get out of bed and open the damn door.

I was about to say something else when I heard a commotion from the other side of the door. Did I really manage to wake up that sleepy ass so quickly? Congrats then, because usually it takes me about ten minutes of hammering at the door, which is accompanied by complaints from the inhabitants of neighboring rooms. But what won't you do in the name of friendship?

"¿De verdad, Charles? "

Did he really bother to get up after all? After a couple of moments, the door of his room opened and I, without even looking at him, immediately went inside.

"Gracias a Dios! I thought you were..."

I immediately stopped my angry-friendly tirade, as I saw that Charles was sleeping peacefully on his bed. I immediately looked around the room and looked at the person who opened the door for me.

"Max?!"

I was in shock, and I just noticed that the room was a mess, and Max was wearing only...a bedsheet. So...he's naked?! It means they... Dios mío! Just realizing what was happening here last night made me feel so ashamed and embarrassed. It's like I found out about something I shouldn't have known. Well, at least not that way. And probably not now.

"Wait...what... que pasó? Why are you...but he's...and you both..."

I began to actively gesticulate, and I tried to figure out what had happened here and how to understand it all. No, I remember that these two are in a relationship, but... but I just didn't think that they had already reached the snu-snu stage! Especially here, in a hotel, where the pilots from all the teams spent the night!

"Carlos, cut it short. Charles is sleeping."

"I... well... I had to wake him up, because there's a meeting...at eleven... meeting of pilots in the lobby."

Usually you can't shut me up, but now it's hard for me to make at least one clear and reasonable sentence. And in general, this is not surprising in such a situation.

Max looked sleepily first at the clock on the wall, and then at me and nodded.

"Okay, I'll tell him. And now I'll ask..."

"Yes, yes, I already... well... that... yes."

Still in a state of some kind of shock, I left their habitación and decided to go back to my room. I need to digest what I've seen. I understand perfectly well that Charles and Max are dating, I have nothing against it. But it's one thing to know about it, and quite another to run into them after... um... after their sexy-time? Dios mío! How embarrassing!

As soon as I entered my room, I immediately took out my phone and sent a short message to Lando. Well, who else? After all, only the two of us are aware of these Dutch-Monegasque relationship. So I don't wanna be the one to suffer after what I've seen only a couple of minutes ago.

Me:

"Where are you? We NEED to talk. ASAP."

The answer from Norris never came, I was about to start calling him when there was a knock on my door. I already realized that this is Lando - only he has a way of knocking on the door not like normal people, but as if in Morse code. I opened the door and dragged him by the hand into my room.

"What happened? Why are you panicking?"

"If you were in my place, amigo, you would also be panicking."

Lando raised an eyebrow questioningly and crossed his arms across his chest.

"What?"

Why is he looking at me like that? Did I say something wrong? I haven't had time to say anything yet, why is he looking like that?

"I'm actually waiting. What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly and looked at my friend.

"I went to Charles's room to wake him up."

"Yes, you always do that, I know. And what's the big deal?"

He nodded and looked at me expectantly, and I tried to put all the thoughts and words together.

"I knocked on the door, he didn't open it at first. And when he opened it, I went into the room, and Charles was sleeping in bed! This loco was asleep! Sabes?"

It seems that today I'm not much of a storyteller, because Lando either didn't understand me at all, or he understood me, but with difficulty.

"Wait, who opened the door then? Well, since Charles was asleep? I'm not catching up."

"Guess three times."

I stared at him intently while the gears began to move in Norris' brain. At some point, the thoughtfulness on his face was replaced by insight.

"You're joking! Seriously?"

He looked at me with some kind of half-joy or half-surprise, and then clapped his hands.

"I knew! I just felt that it would come to this! And after yesterday's race, good sex would be just like a consolation prize for Charles!"

He made a victorious gesture and smiled contentedly. Why does he have this weird reaction? Why is everyone so strange this morning?!

"What are you so happy about?"

"Well, I'm just happy for our friends. Is that a bad thing?"

"Yes! What if someone else had come to Charles's room instead of me? If it wasn't me who saw them? What if there was someone else instead of me? Gasly? Russell? This could be anyone! It's such a risk! The whole of our peloton spent the night at the hotel!"

It seems that Lando will not share my emotions about what I saw in Leclerc's room. So, it's quite normal for him? Is there something I don't understand? Why the fuck is he standing there grinning like he took the first pole yesterday?

"Carlos, calm down. Believe me, no one cares who spends the nights with whom. Relax. You're just exaggerating, and that's why you're freaked out. So come on, nut up and relax!"

He patted me on the shoulder, took out his mobile phone and looked at me.

"Have you had breakfast yet?"

I just nodded in response, and the Briton was already heading for the door. That is, he's just going to leave now?

"And I haven't, so I need to eat something, otherwise soon the stomach will stick to the spine."

He laughed, and I couldn't help but laugh back. Maybe he's really right? Did I exaggerate just because I just didn't expect to see this in the room of my compañero? Of course, I didn't expect to see a sleepy Max Verstappen in Charles's room in one bedsheet. Who can be ready for this at all?

"By the way, order them a surprise breakfast in their room, and make sure the pineapple juice is there."

Norris winked and left my room, and I didn't immediately understand why he started talking about pineapple juice. But when the realization of this context finally dawned on me, I felt even more ashamed, and I don't even know why - because of what I saw in Charles' room, or because I told the Briton about it.

Okay, that's enough. ¡Aguántate, ranita! After all, I am a Spaniard, and we are a hot-headed people, that's why I had such reaction. And Charles and Max are not kids, if they decide that they can move on to a new stage of their relationship, then they can only be praised and supported. Is that what friends do, ¿verdad?

Rethinking this morning, I let go of the whole situation and even stopped stressing about it. So I started to pack my things, because no one canceled the meeting at eleven.

Chapter Text

As soon as I escorted Carlos out of the room, I immediately went back to bed, where Charles was sleeping peacefully. It seems that now it's my turn to admire the sleepy Monegasque, as he once did in a room in Naples. It's so strange that our relationship started and moved to another level in hotel rooms. It's weird, but also kinda funny.

I carefully lay down next to Charles and adjusted the blanket on him, and then I just began to look at his beautiful face. He now has such a calm and peaceful expression on his face, there is not an ounce of fatigue visible on him, considering what we did last night and if I wake him up now, he will obviously not be happy about that.

I caught myself thinking that I adore his moles – the one on his cheeks and the one under his eye. They seem to give him even more charm. Although can he be more charming? He's already the most handsome guy in the whole peloton. And I'm not exaggerating now – he really is. And if someone wants to argue with this, then I am always ready to introduce those people to my fist. Damn it, I'm ready to defend him even with my fists, if necessary. It's probably funny to hear this from a guy who can literally kick anyone's ass, but when it comes to my father, I immediately become an indifferent and weak-willed rag. I thought about my father again, but immediately pushed all thoughts of him away – not here and not now. Now I want to be with Charles and nothing really matters.

I reached out and gently ran my hand over his cheek, to which Monegasque grumbled with displeasure and buried his nose in the pillow. It was hard for me to keep from smiling, but I still have to wake him up.

"Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead. Wake up, otherwise the meeting in the lobby will take place without us."

Charles grumbled something into the pillow and lightly shoved me in the side with his hand, and then turned his head to the side and looked at me.

"Without us? So if I won't go, then you won't go either?"

I thought about it at first, but then I nodded.

"Of course. How will I be there without my "emotional rival"?"

Charles laughed softly and shoved me in the side again. If he shoves me like that a couple more times, then there will definitely be a bruise.

"Come on, wake up, you've already overslept breakfast."

"Last night was worth missing breakfast."

Charles smiled contentedly and reached out to me for a kiss, but I pulled away and threatened him with my finger, to which he reacted with genuine incomprehension. I laughed softly and kissed him briefly on the cheek, after which I immediately got out of bed.

"I'm going to take a shower, and you have ten minutes to pack your things, because we'll have to go soon enough."

I nodded towards the wall clock and, picking up my things from the floor, headed to the bathroom. Before I could close the door behind me, I heard Charles groan in displeasure. Yes, I can be nasty in the morning and he needs to get used to it, because I don't plan to leave him for a very long time.

After taking a shower, I returned to the room where Charles had already packed his things in a bag and was sitting waiting for his turn to take a shower.

"Actually, if we went together, we could save some time."

"Well, I doubt that we would just "take a shower" then."

"Fact."

We laughed and now it was Charles who kissed me on the cheek before disappearing behind the bathroom door. I sat down on the sofa and was about to check the notifications on my phone when there was a knock on the door. I wonder who's there?

I went to the door and was about to open it when I realized one thing - I wasn't in my room. What if it's one of the guys? Well, except for Dan or Carlos, who know about our relationship. What if it's Pierre? He will definitely cause a scene about the fact that I'm in Charles' room. Yes, Pierre doesn't really like me, although I've already mentioned that. And if he finds out that I'm in a relationship with his best friend, then he will kill both me and Charles.

A second knock on the door brought me out of my thoughts, but this time it was also accompanied by a voice.

"It's me, Mario! Hm, sorry, it's me, Lando. I brought both of you something to drink."

Lando? "Both of you"? I mean, does he know about our relationship? Although, there are a lot of rumors about him and Carlos, too, so I wouldn't even be surprised if they were in a relationship too. And yeah, he and Carlos entered my cooling room together, when there was that stupid situation between me, Charles and my dad.

Still, after a little hesitation, I opened the door.

"Finally! And how did you even manage to be the fastest on a grid?"

Lando smiled and handed me a bag with two cans of energy drinks and a bottle of juice.

"So...what does it mean?"

"Energy drink for you instead of coffee, because you definitely won't have time for that. Well, the juice...just in case."

He smiled slyly and patted me on the shoulder, then nodded goodbye and walked down the corridor.

I closed the door and took out a bottle of juice from the bag. Pineapple? I wouldn't say that I'm a big fan of this particular juice. While I was reading the label, Charles came out of the shower.

He pointed to the bag and the bottle of juice in my hands.

"Lando came by, brought us an energy drinks and juice."

"Well, I can understand why he brought the energy drinks, but why juice?"

Charles took the juice bottle from me and read the label.

"Pineapple? Strange choice."

"I agree with you here."

We decided to leave the juice for the meeting, so we opened the energy drinks, checked if Charles had packed everything, and then, closing the door behind him, went to my room. He collected his things, but mine remained in my room.

We went down to my room, we didn't meet anyone we knew on the way, but we didn't stay there for a long time - I didn't really have time to get anything out of my bag yesterday, so I just checked if everything was in place and literally ten minutes later we left my room. Maybe it's thanks to drinks from Lando everything turned out so quickly?

Taking our bags, Charles and I went down to the lobby, where almost all the pilots had already gathered. But we didn't go there together: right in front of the elevator on my floor, we decided to split up – one will go on the first elevator, the second – on the second one. Conspiracy and shit.

Once in the lobby, I noticed that a couple of people were missing from the meeting - they were either late because they hung out too long yesterday, or... or they had already left. The third option is usually not given.

Monegasque and I nodded to each other, as if we had just met, and went to our "groups", but in fact just approached our teammates. Checo told me how the team was having fun at the club yesterday and that many people missed me at the party – of course, when I get drunk, I start doing some crazy shit. No wonder the Internet is full of videos with my "drunk partying". But I'm not ashamed of these videos – I'm young, and I want to have fun, can you blame me for that? And even if someone is judging, I don't care at all.

Checo told how Oscar and Logan tried to repeat the "opening of champagne in Lando's style" yesterday, but instead they just broke about three bottles, for which they got their asses kicked by the elders – Fernando and Nico. I can see these grown-up uncles telling off these two kids. "Kids." We don't have such a big age difference, but I still consider them children.

Yuki and Pierre were the stars of "drunk karaoke" yesterday. According to Checo, they sang all the songs on the list almost all evening yesterday. By the way, Yuki instilled love for karaoke in Pierre back when they were both in the same team – "AlphaTauri". I wonder what would happen if Charles and I were on the same team? What habits or hobbies would we adopt from each other? Although, in order to find out, we don't have to be teammates – in couples, it also happens that partners adopt each other's habits. Well, we'll wait and see.

I've never understood one thing: why do only pilots hang out at such celebrations? Why isn't the rest of the team coming with us? I mean, why all teams are partying separately? We have massive get-togethers only twice a year: at the end of the racing season and on New Year's Eve. That's when all the pilots from every team, all the directors etc. gather to celebrate and have some fun. And then funny photos pop up in the morning, which you can't delete from the Internet later, no matter how hard you try.

Chatting with Checo, I was terribly thirsty, and I remembered that I had put a bottle of juice in my bag. As soon as I opened the juice and took a couple of sips, I immediately caught Lando's sly look at me. What's the matter? Has he mixed something into the juice itself and is now waiting for the result? I nodded to Lando, hinting that he should step aside, as we need to talk. I am glad that he's quick when he needs to.

We moved aside, and I immediately asked why he was smiling so slyly.

"Well, what did you put in there?"

Lando raised an eyebrow and pretended not to understand.

"What are you talking about, Max?"

"Juice. Why are you smiling so cunningly because of it?"

I showed him a bottle of juice, to which Lando laughed and patted me on the shoulder.

"Max, aren't you aware of the magical properties of pineapple juice?"

"Not at all. Come on, just tell me what's the matter."

"I'll say straight: drink it before your "meetings" with Charles, and he will be grateful to you, trust me."

I still didn't understand anything. What's wrong with this juice and how it's connected with our meetings with Charles? Apparently, the Briton saw my confusion and, after giving excellent advice like "Try to Google it", returned to his teammate. By the way, yes, I didn't think of Googling. I took out my phone and immediately typed into the search bar a query about the properties of pineapple juice. After hastily scrolling through a couple of articles, I got to the point: "As some researchers note, pineapple juice can change the taste of male semen."

After reading this, I even choked and caught uncomprehending glances at myself. Yes, I expected everything, but certainly not from Lando. I pretended to just choke on the juice and everyone went back to their discussions. I wonder if Charles is aware of this? Although I don't think so, because he also didn't understand why Lando brought us a bottle of pineapple juice. Not grape, not orange, not apple. Pineapple. Now everything has become clear.

I put the bottle back in my bag and tried to get back into the conversation with the other pilots, even though my mind was busy with something else. Damn, I'm glad that people can't read others minds.

The meeting in the lobby took about thirty minutes at most - we talked to each other, someone was already preparing for the summer break in advance and told about their plans, someone, on the contrary, delved more into the topic of the upcoming Grand Prix, a couple of pilots discussed what game they would play online this time. And who are these players? Of course, "The Twitch Quartet" - George, Alex, Lando and Charles. Ordinary conversations, nothing particularly interesting, to be honest.

Around noon, everyone began to say goodbye to each other and gradually leave. The last teams in the lobby were just us – "Red Bull", "Ferrari" and "Alpin." We went outside with our bags, as a taxi was already waiting for us there to take us to the airport. After saying goodbye to each other, we got into our cars. Charles and I were the last to get into our taxi, I waved to him, and he blew me a kiss. I couldn't help but smile and quickly got into a taxi. What if someone besides me saw him?

God, it's time to stop being paranoid and just enjoy life a little bit. The taxi drove away, and we left for our destinations.

Chapter Text

The week since the last Grand Prix has passed for me somehow too unnoticed. I didn't even have time to rest after that disastrous race, which I don't even want to remember, as I'm already preparing to get back into my car and start at the Belgian Grand Prix.

All those days between the previous Grand Prix and this one were filled with training sessions, meetings in the office with company representatives and sponsors, contract negotiations, discussions on how to improve the team's performance. I wonder if this is even possible in this situation? To be honest, I doubt it. But you never know.

I was busy with business during the day, but I spent all the evenings talking with Max. We "Facetime" each other every night and chat until one of us started getting sleepy. But apart from our conversations, there was something else that I tried for the first time, although for some reason I'm sure that it was a first time not only for me.

Max and I had virtual sex. Hell, it even sounds kind of wrong, but at the same time it's eerily intriguing and hot. It was very strange and unusual experience to see each other through the phone screen, to say all sorts of vulgar phrases to each other, to give commands and obediently do what it said, knowing perfectly well how all this affects the partner, to moan with pleasure and see how he gets turned on when the moan of his name flies from my lips. Of course, it can't be compared to real lovemaking, but when you are apart, even such strange and unusual things can bring real pleasure.

But it all was at home, and now we are in Belgium – preparing for the last race before the summer break. The weather here is disgusting, so it was decided to postpone the start of both - the sprint and the qualifying race. Speaking of qualifying, in the race I start from the first position, and Max – from the sixth, as he received a fine. But is that a problem for him? He can start from the twentieth position and still win. He has proved it to everyone more than once, and I am sure that today he will prove it again.

Before the start of the race, we had some free time, and I decided to stop by Max to check on him and wish him good luck. I took my things from my room and went to him. The corridor was full of people: it's always like this before the start of the race – everyone is fussing, finishing the last preparations before the start, discussing strategies. I have already discussed the latter with the team, so now it's up to the mechanics, because checking the condition of the car before arrival is their job.

I went to the Dutchman's room and knocked on the door, to which I immediately heard "Come in!". I opened the door and went into his room. Max was surprised to see me, but the surprise was clearly pleasant.

"Hey. I came by to wish you good luck before the race."

"Well, yes, because I'm starting from the sixth position. How can I outrun someone from there, right?"

We laughed, but then, as if by the law of meanness, a signal sounded, saying that it was time for the pilots to return to their boxes. Max pulled on his balaclava and was putting on his helmet when I closed the door behind me and approached him. Putting on his helmet, he turned to me and stared in surprise.

"I told you I came to wish you good luck."

I put my hands on the sides of his helmet and pressed my lips to the part where his lips are behind the thick material.

"Win this race for me, okay?"

Smiling, I said softly, and Max nodded in agreement. I am more than sure that he is smiling, but his smile is not visible because of the helmet. I picked up my balaclava and helmet, and left the guy's room.

Ten minutes later, all the pilots were already sitting in their cars and gradually left the pits to take their places on the starting grid. The weather here doesn't please us at all, but one thing is good – now there is no more rain and we can safely start the warm-up lap.

We drove a lap, but not everyone was on the track – Hulkenberg was still on the pitlane. I feel a kindred spirit in "HAAS" - no race without problems, just like in our team.

During the warm-up lap, there were no problems – both with the weather and from the technical side. Is this a good sign? Racing for "Ferrari", you become paranoid and you're trying to find hidden signs in everything. If I tell my therapist about this, he will just laugh and put a tick next to the symptom "Believes in delusional ideas". Although I hide so much from the doctor: the fact that I occasionally drink, even though it is strictly prohibited with my medication; and the fact that no one knows about my visits, although I always assure him that the family is aware and fully supports me; but most importantly, he doesn't know about my relationship with Max. No one knows about them at all, except for the two of us and three other people from the peloton. As people always say: "Ignorance is bliss."

While I was thinking, it was already time to start the race. All the cars are in their places – I'm starting first. It's been a long time since I've held this position even on the starting grid. A pleasant feeling. The eyes of all the pilots are fixed on the track, their feet are ready to push the pedal and to get off as soon as possible, and their hands tightly grip the steering wheel, as if the tighter you hold, the greater the chances of victory.

And here is the long-awaited phrase: "Lights Out And Away We Go", and I rushed forward, but, as expected, I was literally immediately overtaken by a "Red Bull" car. But it's not Max, but Sergio – Max starts from the sixth position, but this is unlikely to prevent him from taking first place on the podium.

The race's only started, as there was already a collision – Sainz and Piastri flew into each other, both cars were damaged, but, most importantly, the pilots themselves are intact. A yellow flag was hung out, Oscar almost immediately left the track, but Carlos decided to continue, although, judging by the negotiations on the radio, damage to his car is unlikely to allow him to hold a normal race, or at least drive all the laps.

While this drama was unfolding, Max had already managed to move to fourth position – only Hamilton, me and Perez were ahead of him. I told you it wouldn't be difficult for him to get ahead. Yes, not immediately, but I am sure that today we will once again hear the Dutch anthem.

My teammate sank lower and lower in the result table – because of a hole in the side of his car, he lost 5% in aerodynamics, which is a serious problem for such races. Carlos went to the pit stop to replace the tires and see if there would be any sense in changing the tyres with such damage. If not, he will get off the track.

Some teams also went to pit stops, which led to the loss of their positions, but I intend to take a place on the winning podium today. Such a familiar car – Max - is rushing past me. Having turned on DRS, he bypasses me, thereby dropping me to the third position. And I'll cling to this place – I won't go any lower. We can't compete with "Red Bull", it's clear as day, so to take third place right after them is a real success.

Soon it started to rain – not a downpour, but the track got pretty wet, which forces the pilots to go to pit stops to switch to more suitable tires. On "Eau Rouge" Max almost lost control of his car, but, thank God, he was lucky and no accident or anything else happened. But, as expected, the rain did not intensify, and soon stopped.

Soon Carlos got off the track – with such damages it would not be a race, but a mockery of the pilot. So I was the only "Ferrari" left on the track. You can consider this another reason not to give up my positions in any case and snatch a place on the podium at any cost.

The race went on as usual: pit stops, laps, overtaking, pit stops again, DRS, overtaking. No further incidents were recorded on the track. I tried to hold my position, but I saw that the other pilots were literally fighting for their own – Pierre and Alex did not want to give in to each other, just like Esteban and Yuki in front of them. What we didn't expect was that there would be checkered flags in this race – Sargent earned one and, if he gets another one, he will earn a five-second penalty.

And then the final lap – Hamilton, literally breathing down my neck the whole race, went to the pit stop. Apparently, he decided not to fight for the podium, but to score points for the fastest lap. And so Max crosses the finish line, followed by Sergio, and behind Sergio – me. Yes! I'm back on the podium! Yes, in third place, but hell – I'm glad even for a such victory! Moreover, now there will be a summer break, and what could be better than a prize-winning place before the rest?

I was damn glad to be on the podium, and I was even gladder that I was on the podium with Max. After the finish, he came up to me, and we shook hands as if out of old habit, I winked, and he smiled and with a satisfied smile, but barely audible, so that only I could hear, said:

"As you asked – I won this race for you."

Now I was smiling, and I was even...embarrassed. It's good that I have a red racing suit – it glows red on the skin and therefore it's not noticeable that my cheeks are red too. Perhaps I still found at least one plus from being in this team.

And then everything is as per the regulations – short interviews after the finish, then photos at the photo stand and photos for sponsors. Then listening to the anthem, which everyone already knows by heart, and at the end - a celebration with champagne fountains and spraying everyone who approaches the podium – mechanics, strategists, people presenting awards and, of course, each other.

When the official part of the celebration of both the completion of the Grand Prix and the beginning of the summer break was over, all the pilots and their teams scattered, some to a party to celebrate success, some to a hotel to relax, and some straight to the airport to take a direct flight home from there and start their well-deserved rest.

Because of all the fuss in the boxes and corridors, Max and I did not have the opportunity to meet and discuss plans for the summer break. It would be cool to spend at least some time of this whole break together, but who am I kidding - it's better for the two of us not to be together somewhere outside of race time, otherwise rumors will spread, for example, about my transfer to "Red Bull", and then I'll have to justify myself for the fantasy of journalists.

And what could be even worse – rumors will spread about our "not quite friendly relations", from which it will be even more difficult to get rid of. Yes, anyway, we need to keep our relationship a secret for the sake of each other's peace of mind and for the sake of our careers. Neither Max nor I need scandals.

Although, after Max moved to Monaco, we still manage to meet sometimes – we sometimes "accidentally" bump into each other in cafes, then in shops, then see each other at parties with mutual friends, and we have quite a few of them. But to deliberately meet and spend time together as "friends" - we can't afford that. It's too risky.

Anyway, after the race in Belgium, I went straight to the airport, and from there – home, to Monaco. I want to return to my apartment as soon as possible to rest, and then at least partially plan my vacation for the next couple of weeks. I wonder if Max has already planned his vacation? Where will he rest? How will he rest? What will he do in general for these three weeks? It would be cool if I could meet him on the same vacation. What if our plans coincide? It often happens that pilots meet each other on vacation, although they don't arranged about it in advance.

Yes, I admit to myself – I fucked up pretty hard, without asking about Verstappen's break plans. It just so happened that we didn't have time to talk about it – we were at the Grand Prix after all. There's qualification, sprint, race – that's what the whole head is full of. Maybe, upon arrival in Monaco, I should call him and find out? Well, or write him a message? Or write not on arrival, but better tomorrow morning? What if he stayed to hang out with the team? It is unlikely that he will then keep the phone with him. Jesus, Charles, where did you get so many questions from? You're acting like an indecisive teenager in a relationship for the first time.

I felt funny with myself, so I laughed softly. It's good to still have a private jet – no one will look at me, a laughing Monegasque, who laughs for no reason and will not consider me as a psycho. But I'm not crazy, even though I'm being treated. I probably need to make a card like the Joker had in the movie with the same name, and every time I have fits of laughter for no reason, just show it to people around. "I'm not crazy, even though I'm being treated." It's a good idea, but it's unlikely to be appreciated.

A couple of hours later I was already in my house. I left my suitcase with my things at the door – I'll take care of it tomorrow, today I have neither the strength nor the desire. It's good that I managed to order food delivery on the way home, so I don't have to think about what to eat before going to bed.

I had already taken a shower and changed my clothes when the doorbell rang – delivery. Just in time. I paid the courier and went to dinner, even though it was long past midnight. Yes, I know that eating at night is unhealthy, but when did you care about it, right, Charles?

Having sat down for the so-called "dinner", I picked up the phone and decided to write to Max anyway. Yes, it's late now and it's likely that he's either hanging out somewhere or has been sleeping already. In general, I'm more than sure that I won't get an answer from him right away, but in the morning he will definitely answer. So without thinking twice, I quickly wrote and sent a message to the Dutchman.

Me:

"Hi. I didn't have time to ask you at the center, so I'll ask you now – what are your vacation plans? ;)"

Yes, I put that stupid smiley face, but when you are in love, you often think any heresy that you would never say or write is cute. So the use of a silly smiley face can be justified.

As I expected, there was no response. Well, it's really late, so it's time to finish eating and go to bed, since the rest seems to have already begun, but I haven't even gone to bed yet. I wonder if I'll be able to fall asleep today without sleeping pills? Yes, I began to use them much less often than usual, but sometimes I still can't fall asleep without them – then different thoughts come into my head, or I just can't get tired enough during the day. So yes, sometimes these pills are the only salvation for a person who is more tired mentally than physically.

After cleaning up the "dinner" packages and dishes, I pulled on my pajama pants and got into bed. Damn, it's so good to just lie down on the bed, close your eyes and feel how the body itself begins to relax. I already felt myself gradually falling asleep, but at the last moment I decided to check the phone again. Empty. There is no notification about the message.

I put the phone on the bedside table and, getting comfortable, finally allowed myself to fall asleep and completely give myself up to rest.

I slept pretty soundly and even calmly – fatigue still took its toll and I managed to give my body a rest without the help of sleeping pills. So after such a dream, I woke up only around noon, which is very uncharacteristic for me. I checked my phone again – no notification. More precisely, there are plenty of them, but there was no message from Max. Well, maybe he just hasn't woken up yet? He's also a human, maybe he's sleeping it off too.

After lying in bed for a while, even trying to recover from a sound sleep, I got up and lazily went to the shower. I will definitely be able to wake up completely after the shower, and then I will write to Max once again. Maybe he will wake up by this time and write himself? It could be, right, Charles?

Undressing, I stood under the warm jets of water and thought about rest. Where would I like to go? And in general, is it worth going somewhere? Maybe it's better to stay at home? No, I'll go crazy if I stay in the house for three weeks. I need somewhere to unwind. I don't want to impose my company on Pierre, well, or other friends, either – after all, this is a vacation from racing and everything connected with them, that's why pilots prefer to rest not in companies, but one at a time.

Maybe I should fly to Sardinia? There is also the sea, which means that it is possible to swim on a yacht – one of my favorite activities. And you can also find quiet places to relax there, where there are not so many people, and it's warm there, and I love warmth. Yes, I'll probably go there for at least a couple of days.

It seems like having decided on a rest, I got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my hips, left the bathroom and checked the phone again – nothing. How long can he sleep? I sat on the side of the bed and typed another message.

Me:

"Good morning. Since I haven't received an answer, I will ask directly – how about a vacation in Sardinia? Not together, of course, but so as to "accidentally" see each other there?;)"

And again that stupid smiley face. I just realized that the smiley winks – it's just like my habit of winking at Max. I waited a couple of minutes, but there was no response. I put the phone down and went to the closet, took out my things and calmly changed clothes – even though I'm at home, I don't really want to stay half-naked.

I was about to go to the kitchen to brew myself a cup of coffee when the phone beeped an incoming message. Immediately forgetting about the desire to drink coffee, I rushed to the phone and immediately opened the long-awaited message from the Dutchman.

Max:

"We have to break up."

Is this a joke? He woke up and decided to make fun of me?

Me:

"Is this a joke? If so, it's not funny."

My palms were sweating, and I'm willing to bet that if I hadn't grabbed the phone with a death grip, it would have definitely slipped out of my hands.

Max:

"No. It was a mistake. I wanted to play, and I'm already sick and tired of the game."

Me:

"What do you mean? Max, I don't understand. What the hell are you talking about?!"

I wanted to dial Max's number to talk to him directly and find out what was going on at all, when another message came.

Max:

"It's over. Don't write to me anymore."

My hands were shaking. What the hell? What the fuck is going on? Why did he decide to break up withme? With shaking hands, I tried to dial Max's number once again, but in response I heard only a computer voice: "The number is unavailable." I tried to write him a message, but it didn't go through – apparently, he turned off the phone.

I don't understand. Everything was fine, everything was fine between us. Why? Why did he decide to break up? Why did he leave me? And why did he write, and not call and tell me about it? I don't understand. My head has become empty, like a balloon, and, to be honest, I wouldn't mind if my "balloon" exploded now.

It's like the ground has been knocked out from under my feet. I don't know what to do now. I just want to go to bed and lie in it for the rest of my life. To lie like a sack of potatoes in a dark corner, so that no one touches me. So that my existence is forgotten and not remembered.

I got into bed and tucked my legs, laying down in the fetal position. I never let go of the phone – what if it was just a joke and now a message signal will be heard, where he will write that it's all not true? That it was a moronic joke, fucking unfunny and extremely stupid joke. Come on, come on, write that it was a joke. Please.

But there was no signal. None. Silence. And this silence began to overcome me slowly, as thoughts immediately got into my head – about myself, about Max, about what had happened between us, that I was a fool to believe in this stupid fairy tale, that it was all just a game for him, about that there is nothing now, that everything is over now. Charles, you're a fool. Fool. Naive fool. How could you believe him? How could you so easily believe that that selfish asshole might care about you? Maybe what people say about him is not so far from true, and he is actually not as good as I imagined him to be?

I wanted to howl, I wanted to sob, I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, but instead of all this, I seemed to fall into a stupor – I just lay there and stared at one point. I just lay there, and inside I felt how my heart was bursting with pain and how my head was boiling with an abundance of thoughts that did not want to leave me alone in any way, but only escalated the situation and made me feel even worse than it could be at all.

I was still clutching the phone in my hand, and with my other hand I reached for the bedside table. I want to forget myself. I want to fall asleep and to sleep through this day. What if everything gets better tomorrow? What if it turns out that none of this happened, and it was just a bad dream?

I took a sleeping pill, and took it as I used to. I looked at the open chat with Max again, but there were no new messages from him there. Maybe I shouldn't wait for messages or calls from him anymore? What if it wasn't a joke and it's really over? Charles, stop fooling yourself with silly hopes. I swiped my finger across the phone screen, selected Max's contact and blocked it. I finally let the phone out of my hands and closed my eyes in the hope that the pill would work in a matter of seconds, but it didn't happen. Thoughts came up again and again one after another, but soon they began to fade away, and I fell asleep.

Chapter Text

After yesterday's victory at the Grand Prix, I went to a party with the whole team - I couldn't get away, because it was the last race before the summer break, so everyone had to attend the celebration. By "everyone", I am referring not only to the pilots of the team, but also to the entire staff of mechanics, strategists, coordinators, and everyone who was present in the box. But in addition to the working staff, the "significant others" had to be present too. I hate to pretend in front of everyone that I am in a wonderful relationship in which I am happy and that there is complete understanding and boundless love between us. "Perfect relationship" - that's how people call it in the press, and among friends and acquaintances. "Contractual relations" – that's how I call it. Everyone knows how I got into this whole situation – I got a place in the team, and just like a "bonus" was the relationship with the girlfriend of the previous pilot. Just like in a store – take one promotional item, and get the second one for free.

Anyway, yesterday, even though I had to show how happy I am, but I would prefer that instead of my girlfriend, the pilot of the red team was next to me. But this will not happen for obvious reasons. The only thing that pleased me was that since it was a party, it meant that I could get drunk so as not to think about this sad side of my relationship with Charles. Actually, that's what I did. And I wouldn't even be surprised at all if another video of "Drunk Max Verstappen" appears on the Internet soon. But I don't care, I don't care.

And I also don't care that because of my words, a scandal may break out again after the race. When I and a couple of other pilots were giving interviews, at some point George said something like:

"I think many will agree that if there were no "Red Bull" and Max in particular in the races, then the races themselves would be much more interesting, and the intrigue would persist throughout the season."

Is this a stone in my garden? Is it my fault that our team has better mechanics and pilots than "Mercedes"? And it's absolutely not the "Red Bull" pilots who want to damage their cars – first George ruined my car, now Lewis has decided to recoup on Checo. Should I just forgive and forget that? Hell no. The journalist then turned to me with a request to comment on the words of "Mercedes" pilot.

"Max, do you have something to answer your opponent?"

"Yes, and I think many will agree that if someone stopped copying the behavior of his whining partner and finally grew some balls, then neither "Red Bull" nor I would become a threat to him in racing and neither he nor his partner wouldn't have to purposely damage our cars."

Someone laughed after my words, someone tensed up, and the journalists began to record everything I had just said. But George, apparently, was not satisfied with this answer.

"And what do you mean by that?"

"That I thought that you were raised as a pilot, but not as whining bitch."

Other pilots immediately decided to move the other topics, just to stop George and me from further snapping at each other. But I didn't care, because I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

Of all that happened during the evening, but only one thing really worried me – yesterday, because of all the turmoil after the end of the race, I didn't have time to go to Charles and talk to him, but even write a message was quite problematic. In fact, I didn't even hold the phone in my hands, because I was busy all the time either with reporters and gathering with the team. Maybe he also decided to hang out with the team yesterday and also didn't pay much attention to the phone? Anyway, I somehow feel bad for the fact that I didn't even send him a message.

But then again - anyway, I woke up in the afternoon, and my head is literally splitting – a classic awakening after a party. I checked my phone for messages or calls from one and only person I'd like to hear not, and I was a little unpleasantly surprised to see that there's nothing on the phone. He's probably still asleep. I need to write him a message myself, and at the same time I will apologize for not writing anything yesterday. I found our chat with Charles and typed a message.

Me:

"Good morning. I'm sorry that I didn't write anything yesterday – I was completely wrapped up with the team. I've missed you❤️"

I pressed "Send", but I immediately got a message that this contact had blocked me. Maybe it's some kind of mistake? Or a network failure? I decided to act in a proven way – to restart the phone. Usually a reboot solves all the problems.

I waited a couple of minutes until the phone rebooted and fully connected to all services, and again tried to send a message to Monegasque. "You cannot send a message to this contact, because he limits the circle of people who can send him messages." Did I do something yesterday, or maybe I called him drunk and said something that I don't remember at all now? I immediately checked the call log on the phone - there were no calls to or from Charles. What's happening? The saddest thing is that I can't find out about it from anyone – no one knows about our relationship except Daniel, Carlos and Lando, but the last two weren't at the party yesterday, because it was "an exclusive party for members of the "Red Bull" team and their families." Although Daniel... I need to call him, maybe he's aware of what's going on.

I found Dan's contact and immediately pressed on "Call" button. A long series of beeps followed, and when I was about to drop the call, I finally heard dissatisfied voice of my Australian friend.

"Either you have something happened, or you're so wasted and you want to die after yesterday's party - I don't see any other reasons for calling me now."

He grumbled into the phone, apparently, I woke him up with my call. And I don't know the answer to his question myself, in fact, that's why I'm calling.

"Hello to you, too, yes. Listen, did I do anything yesterday? Did I call anyone? Or maybe I did some crazy shit yesterday?

"You're always doing some crazy shit, to be honest."

I didn't say anything and began to frantically recall what happened at the party yesterday, and Dan noticed my pause.

"Or are you specifically talking about your loverboy?"

For some reason, I was immediately confused by this word – it seems harmless, but it also seems to confuse with its meaning.

"And... and I... I don't remember what happened yesterday at all. And now I woke up, I wanted to write to him, but I've got a notification on my phone that he's blocked me."

"Really? Blocked?"

"I'm not in the mood for jokes right now."

Now Dan has already stopped talking, and I felt uncomfortable with the realization that I really could fucked something up yesterday, and that's why Charles decided to block me without any explanation.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. And no, you didn't do anything crazy yesterday. You didn't even hold the phone in your hands much. You got drunk yesterday – that's a fact. You were having a good time yesterday – that's also a fact. But you didn't do anything out of the line, that's for sure. Otherwise, everyone would have known and talked about it, you know it yourself."

He's right– if something happens at parties, then everyone gossips about it later. And if it gets recorded on the phone, then it will be the subject of discussion for a very long time.

"I just don't understand what's going on. Everything was fine, and yesterday we didn't even have time to exchange a few words because of the commotion after the race, and today I wake up and... I even... I can't even figure out what's going on. What did I do? He just blocked me and didn't explain anything. And now I... now I don't even know what to do."

"Have you checked his socials? Maybe he left some hints there? And in general, try to write to him on Instagram."

"I can't, we're not subscribed to each other, and his personal account is closed."

"Well, subscribe then."

"He blocked me on the phone, do you think he will approve my request on the socials?"

There was silence on the phone again. Both Dan and I tried to figure out the situation, but neither I nor he could figure out what was going on. Of course, I will check all his social networks, but it is unlikely that this will bring at least some result.

"Maybe write to one of his friends? Who's his best friend there? Pierre Gasly-y-y-y-y?"

He pronounced the Frenchman's name in his usual manner, but I was not laughing now. Write to Pierre? It's a crazy idea, because he can't stand me anyway, and then there's the matter of Charles.

"That's a bad idea. We dislike each other."

"Do you want me to try to find out for myself?"

"Yeap, actually. Try, otherwise I don't know what to do at all."

"You'd better get ready and pack your things – you have a flight to Sardinia in the evening, summer break and shit. Have you forgotten?"

"Trust me, I'm not ready for rest at all right now."

"Yeap, I know, but you have contractual obligations, so get your ass up and show some journalists a beautiful picture of a happy couple on vacation."

I sighed heavily now. I completely forgot that I have to go on vacation with my fictitious girlfriend, because how else do pilots spend their holidays? In the company of the significant others, with whom they are often caught by the paparazzi. For them it is an exclusive, but for us it is another aspect of the work.

"Yes, I remember."

"So get ready while I try to find out what's wrong."

"OK. And thank you, Dan."

"You'll thank me later, loverboy."

I finished the call and hastily checked Charles' social networks – he hasn't been online since yesterday. No hint that anything could have happened. After lying down for a while, I got out of bed, then trudged to the bathroom to take a pill – me head hurts so bad, then I took a shower and tried to remember what happened yesterday. A cold shower cools the body, but doesn't calm the mind. I still couldn't figure out what happened. Why did he block me? There were no new messages or anything like that in our chat, the call-log was also clear. And at the party, judging by Dan's words, I didn't do anything that could make Monegasque block me. But Charles blocked me. He just blocked me and didn't write anything – no reason, no explanation, nothing.

I am grateful to Dan that he took it upon himself to help me find out the cause of what happened, because I definitely couldn't figure it out alone. And many pilots, even Charles' friends, treat him much better than they treat me. I think if something has happened, he will definitely find out about it.

In the meantime, I need to fly to Monaco, where I need to pack a suitcase for a vacation and go on a vacation with my "girlfriend". However, I don't know what kind of vacay will turn out there if I have questions about yesterday and why Charles decided to cut off any communication with me. But... did he only cut off communication, or did our relationship also come to an end?

The thought of that made me feel uneasy and much worse than the most terrible hangover. What if he decided to break up with me like that, and in order to avoid explaining the reasons, he just blocked me? No, it doesn't sound like him. He wouldn't do that. Charles is not that kind of person – he would prefer to sort everything out rather than cowardly escape from any situation.

I packed my things at the hotel, went to the airport, and from there I flew to Monaco. When I arrived in Monaco, I wanted to go to Charles first, but what if he's not at home? What if he's still in Belgium? Or maybe he's already gone on vacation? Damn, he blocked me, and now I can't even find out anything about him. I decided to act differently – before I started packing my suitcase, I decided to go for a run: it's good for both the body and the mind. Maybe the fresh air will help me sort out what happened yesterday?

After running around a bit, I made a short video and posted it on Instagram, specifically setting the geolocation as "Monaco, France". Yes, I know perfectly well that Monaco is not France, but I also know perfectly well that Charles wouldn't have been able to ignore my dumb "mistake". In fact, he would have written to me. So I posted a video and just waited. I practically didn't take my eyes off the phone, but I didn't see Monegasque's account either in the messages or in the list of those who watched the video. Why is there no damn notification from you, Charles?

I waited for any news from him until the evening, but, unfortunately, work plans for the summer break will not wait, so after packing my things in a suitcase, I found myself at the airport again that evening – it's time for our "couple" to fly out on vacation. When I arrived at the airport, "my girlfriend" was already waiting for me with her suitcases. A smile, staged kisses and hugs, happy faces – everything that paparazzi love so much.

Only after getting on the plane and flying to Sardinia, we scattered each to our end of the plane – she was leafing through her magazines and doing something on the phone, and I stared blankly at my phone. I tried again and again to send a message to Monegasque, but I only received the same notification - "You cannot send a message to this contact, because he limits the circle of people who can send him messages." Charles, what happened? Please give me a hint.

Chapter Text

The morning after a party is never pleasant, because a headache and a desire to drink a tank of water in one gulp is the first thing that appears in the morning. But today it wasn't what woke me up, but a call from Max. At first, it was difficult for me to understand what he wanted from me at all and what kind of questions he was asking, but when I heard the notes of despair in his voice, I realized that the matter was clearly serious. Even though I love these two assholes, but if Charles just has a slip and decided to get on Max's nerves like that, then I'll kick both their asses – Charles for creating this situation, and Max for not letting the old Australian sleep off after an all-night party with the team.

I promised to help Max find out what's going on, and I won't give up my promise, because Max has always helped and protected me, so I have to help him now. After lying in bed for a while and struggling from a headache, I figured out an approximate plan of action: first I'll check the social networks myself, then I'll try to call or write to Leclerc – he didn't block me, I hope. And if it doesn't work out with him, then I will remind my old friend Pierre Gasly of my existence. Well, as a last resort, I'll find out where my friend's lover is now and pay him a visit.

Getting up and taking a quick shower, I went to the kitchen to cook myself breakfast and lunch, and at the same time I will deal with the first point from my plan. While the coffee was brewing and the fried eggs were frying, I checked all the socials of Leclerc that I knew. I checked his activity online, but everywhere I got the same result – "The user was online more than 24 hours ago." The first point of the plan failed, but I'm not a Honey Badger if I give up so quickly.

While I was having breakfast, I moved on to the second point of the plan - calling my friend's lover. After taking a long sip of coffee, I found Charles's contact on the phone and pressed the "Call" button. While I was listening to the beeps on the phone, I had already drunk half of the contents of the mug. As a result, a computer voice was heard in the handset, informing that "The called contact is not responding." If he doesn't answer the phone, then it's time to send a message. Maybe he's just busy with something and doesn't hear the call, but he'll definitely notice the message later. Without thinking twice, I typed a message to Charles.

Me:

"Hello, Perceval. What happened between you and Max? Why did you block him? He called me and doesn't understand what's going on at all. If you don't wanna talk to him, then at least answer me? Okay? I will be waiting for an answer. And seriously – you'd better answer, otherwise I'll come for an answer in person."

While I was waiting for an answer, I already managed to finish my breakfast, which smoothly turned into lunch. But there was no response, although the message was marked as "Sent". It means that his phone is on, and it means that the second point of the plan is also failed.

Well, since the first two points didn't work, it's time to call Pierre. I am sure the Frenchman will be "very happy" to receive a call from me. Scrolling through the contacts in my phone, I found Gasly's number and pressed the "Call" button. As strange as it may sound, but he answered literally right away.

"Bonjour, Danny Rick. What do you need?"

"Just like that, without foreplay?"

We both laughed into the phone, but I got straight to the point.

"Listen, I have a question: Didn't you talk to Charles yesterday? Well, or today?"

"Just yesterday before the race. Why?"

"Does he answer calls and texts to you?"

"How do I know? We haven't called each other yet. And what exactly is the matter?"

I could tell by Pierre's voice that he was a little tense. They're best friends with Charles, and then it turns out that he doesn't even know that he's not answering his phone. I wonder if he knows about Charles and Max's relationship? Of course, I could ask him directly now, but what if I set up the lovebirds by doing so? Before I could say anything, Pierre broke the silence.

"So, what did you do to my best friend? Or not you, but your friend?"

Oh, yes, you can read my mind, Gasly. Only you don't need to know about anything between them and what they do to each other when they're alone.

"Nothing, I just wanted to find out what plans everyone has for a summer break, well, so we wouldn't meet each other and ruin this precious time, but I can't get in touch with Charles."

"Keep in mind: if something is wrong with him, then I personally and with great pleasure will unscrew Max's head, well, and yours too, so you won't feel left out."

I don't know if the Frenchman believed in my justification, but he didn't ask any further questions. We exchanged short phrases, exchanged vacation plans and said goodbye. By the way, before his departure for vacation, Pierre was in Monaco and said that he saw Charles' car at his house. So Leclerc is back in Monaco. But, since Gasly failed to contact him, although he didn't even try, it means that technically the third point of my plan is also failed.

Well, since I promised to help Max figure out what the whole thing is, then I just have to fly to Monaco now to arrange a personal interrogation for my friend's lover. Even though it was getting close to evening, I decided not to postpone the matter for later, so after collecting my few things, I checked out of the hotel in Belgium and went to the airport to go straight to Monaco from there, and not on vacation, as I had planned yesterday afternoon.

It was already ten o'clock in the evening when I got to Leclerc's house – it's good that all the pilots know not only the phones, but also each other's addresses. I decided to call him again, but to no avail. He still did not respond to messages. So I went to Charles' front door and started banging on the door, simultaneously pressing the doorbell. The cacophony was terrible, such that it would raise the dead.

And I was right - literally after five minutes of my attempts to reach Leclerc, he finally opened the door, but he looked awful - sleepy eyes just like he's still not woken up, disheveled hair, damp cheeks and traces of a pillow are visible on one. Did he sleep so soundly? And was he crying in his sleep? What the hell happened between these lovebirds?

Without waiting for a greeting from Charles, I literally shoved him deep into the hallway and went into his house myself, closing the door behind me.

"So, what happened between you both?"

Charles tried to focus his eyes on me, which did not happen immediately. Did he really just get up? If so, then I don't even know whether to envy him or not - either he is so tired, or he naturally has such a great need for sleep. However, I have not received an answer to my question.

"Charles, Max called me and..."

"Okay, go away."

He interrupted me in mid-sentence and, to be honest, I was confused by this.

"What do you mean? What's between ..."

"Daniel, just go away. Go away and don't tell me anything about this asshole."

"But what happened?"

Charles was no longer so sleepy, but rather irritated, and I rarely see him like that.

"I just don't understand what happened to you? Why didn't you answer calls all day, blocked Max..."

"Dan, go away, I told you."

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on."

I crossed my arms across my chest, showing the seriousness of my intentions with all my appearance.

Charles sighed heavily and rubbed his temples, then looked at me with an extremely irritated and at the same time serious look.

"I understand everything: he is your friend, and you will always protect him, no matter how stupid he is, but not this time. I don't even want to talk about him, so if that's all you came for, then I'm asking you to leave my house."

"No, tell me first..."

"Out!"

He shouted and pointed to the door for me, and I even startled from surprise. Why does he react this way to my attempts to talk about Max? Did he really fucked up so hard?

"Tell me at least..."

"Dan, last warning."

His gaze hasn't changed a bit, so it's really better for me to retreat.

"Okay, okay, I'm leaving."

I raised my hands in the air, as if to let Charles know that I was giving up, and moved towards the exit. But before I left Leclerc's house, I looked at him again and said softly.

"You need to talk, otherwise you will lose each other."

I went out and closed the door behind me, and immediately heard something fly into the door from the other side and break. Did he throw a vase at the door? Or was he aiming at me?

However, the situation has not become clearer. I called a taxi, and while I was driving to the hotel, I wrote Max a brief story of my failures: Charles' best friend knows nothing about the reasons for his behavior, and Charles himself flatly refused to talk. He generally overreacted to the slightest mention of Max. What happened between them? Whether or not I have already become interested, I will continue to try and find out what happened between them, even if it means interrogating the entire peloton.

Chapter Text

Dan's evening visit was a real surprise for me, especially since he asked strange questions about Max. What happened between us? Max happened. Max and his revelations in those fucking messages. Why did he decide to break our relationship, and now he's sending his friend just to find out my reaction? Is this part of his "funny" joke? If so, then he has a weird and disgusting sense of humor.

It's good that Dan has left after all - I want to be alone, I want to be out of touch for everyone, and that no one could reach me. I want to, but I can't, because "the contract obliges me to spend an indicative couple of days of vacation," which means that I will have to fly somewhere in the morning to rest, and fly not alone, but with my so-called "girlfriend". I sometimes even forget about her existence.

So I'll have to forget about my suffering and broken heart for a while, and smile. Smile as if everything is fine. Smile like I don't want to drown myself in the sea. Smile, as if my is so damn happy and exciting. Just smile and pretend that everything is fine. Charles, you can do that, right? Because you know how to do that.

I grinned to myself and went back to the bedroom, where I got back into bed. I picked up the phone again, but it only had a message from the team's PR manager with the departure time and destination point for the next couple of days of the summer break. Well, it looks like I'm going to have to play "Mr. Perfect" in Sardinia this time.

And I really hope that during these couple of days I will be able to distract myself from my thoughts about Max. From thoughts, memories, from what was between us. How could he act out his desire to be in a relationship with me so plausibly? How did he do it? And how could I not immediately figure it out? I just fell for it, like some naive teenager. I just fell for it, and now I hate myself for it.

I don't want to pack my things right now, even though the flight will be early. I'll collect everything at the last moment - what difference does it make what to take with me? As if anyone would care about the color of my swimming trunks or the shade of my shirt. So I'll just stuff into the suitcase what first comes to hand, and that's enough.

I don't feel like sleeping anymore, and that's bad. Although in a dream my life doesn't seem to me so flawed as it really is. So I went back to the phone again, but I didn't go into socials. I started flipping through the applications with news from the world of racing: some of the pilots have even posted vacation photos on their pages, someone has already been caught by the paparazzi. It was only a partial day, but there were already quite a lot of photos. That's what "a quiet holiday during the summer break" means, yeah.

I was flipping through the photos until I came across photos of Verstappen. Here he is smiling, here he is sunbathing, here he is hugging and kissing his "girlfriend", whom he so sweetly calls as "contract girlfriend". Is it really just "contractual"? Is it possible to believe him at all? Maybe they're having serious relationship, and I really was just some kind of interest for him and nothing more? Yes, it probably is.

I smiled bitterly, and then looked at the geolocation of his photos. He and his "girlfriend" have already flown to rest on... Sardinia?! Is this a continuation of this joke from the Dutchman?!

I couldn't believe my eyes, so I started rubbing them hard, but no - he's in Sardinia. And I'm flying there in the morning. What the hell?!

I sat up too abruptly on the bed, which immediately gave me a headache. Closing my eyes and recovering a little from a sharp flash of headache, I found the number of my PR manager in the list of contacts, then immediately pressed on "Call" button. I don't care if it's already the middle of the night. I need answers, and I need them now.

I've heard a long series of beep, and then the dissatisfied voice of my PR agent.

"Why are you..."

"Why the fuck am I flying to Sardinia tomorrow?"

"Because we bought you a ticket there."

"Very funny. Why exactly there? Why couldn't you choose another place?"

I've heard a heavy sigh, and then the agent spoke again.

"Because we have signed a contract with a local hotel, so you will fly there to rest, and not somewhere else."

"Do you even know that Verstappen is resting there... the pilot from "Red Bull"?"

The agent quieted down, then the sound of flipping through papers was heard. Is he still in the office? Or did he take a job at home?

"Oh, right. The hotel has signed a contract not only with us, but also with "Red Bull"."

For fuck's sake! Has life decided to finally finish me off? Not only do I have a personal drama with this pilot, but we will also rest in the same place. Charles, you're a winner in life.

"Can't you change my location?"

"No, Charles. Everything has already been discussed."

"I see."

I put the phone down and lay back on the bed. I hope I won't see him there. That there will be no casual meetings at the hotel or somewhere else. That I will be able to take my mind off everything that is happening to me now, at least for a short period of time. I just hope I don't see him. I don't wanna see him.

But on the other hand, I want to see him. I want to know what happened. Why did he do this to me? What was the reason for that? Why did he literally play with me and then quit without really explaining anything? Why did he decide to break my already suffering heart into pieces? I want answers, but I'm also afraid. I'm afraid to hear from him exactly what he wrote in the messages.

I don't know how long I lay in thought, but in the end I still forced myself to get up and throw things into the suitcase. Yes, I wanted to do this before the flight, but I need to distract myself a little. Let better thoughts about the Dutchman replace thoughts about choosing a shirt. It will be much more useful now.

While I was collecting things, I didn't even notice how close the departure time was. I put the last couple of things in the suitcase, closed it and dragged it to the front door. Damn, I completely forgot to remove the pieces of the vase. Leaving my suitcase by the door, I went to get a broom and quickly cleaned up the traces of my night outburst of anger. It's a good thing Dan managed to close the door behind him, otherwise I wouldn't be at home right now, but in some police station.

When I finished cleaning, I quickly took a hot shower, changed clothes, made myself look like everything is fine, but my reflection clearly tells me otherwise, and, picking up my suitcase, left the house. There was already a taxi waiting for me outside, which was so politely ordered by our team.

Soon I was already at the airport and boarded a private plane, on board of which my companion was already waiting for me. We exchanged a couple of phrases like we used to do, then everyone went about their business - she was actively posting something on social networks, and I just looked out the window. I just need to distract myself, and the contemplation of the view of the receding roofs of houses and clouds has a calming effect on me.

No matter how short the flight was, but after a couple of hours I already found myself on the island where I should rest, and in fact I will avoid one single person. Well, Charles, it's time to rest.

Chapter Text

Even though my vacation had officially started, I still couldn't relax. I've been thinking all the time about what happened between me and Charles? I reread our messages over and over again and listened to the voice messages that we often sent to each other when we just wanted to hear each other's voice, or were just too lazy to type long messages. But I don't see even the tiniest hint of something why he could block me for.

Dan tried to find out what was going on, he even flew to Monaco and went to Charles' house, but judging by his story, he couldn't find out anything at all. And Charles overreacted to even the mention of my name. What the hell is the matter?! Maybe someone wrote or told him something about me? Although he already knows even more about me than I know about myself. Or maybe someone turned him against me? Although I doubt it, because Charles is emotional, he is far from a fool. It's not so easy to make him believe in something.

I tried again and again to write and call him both via phone and in social networks, but the result is always the same. I'm already thought about going to his house myself after vacation. I'll just come to his house and let him speak, let him shout, let him throw hands on me or throw vases like he threw one at Dan – I'll find out what the reason for his abrupt change of attitude towards me is. And I will absolutely not care if some paparazzi or someone else sees me at his house and then strange articles and speculations begin to arise.

I have been in Sardinia for a day now – a beautiful island with a wonderful hotel, which kindly provided us with a room for the time of our staying here. Well, how did I get it? "Red Bull" signed a contract with the hotel, so we were given a room. So to speak, they get advertising is from us – we get service from them. Everyone is happy, everyone's winning.

Photos of all the pilots from their vacation are already appearing on the Internet, but I still haven't seen Charles's photos. Maybe something happened to him? But Dan said that Charles seemed to be intact, well, physically. Emotionally, his condition is definitely far from normal. Although, to be honest, I doubt my condition very much as well. Of course, it is not difficult for me to smile at the camera – yet over the years you hone this skill with a bang. But when I know for sure that I am alone, I want to destroy everything around me, I want to scream, I want to give free rein to my emotions. I don't know and don't understand what happened between Charles and me, and this drives me into despair, which slowly dragging me down.

Probably, when there's no the cameras, I look like a sleepwalker – I go everywhere with my phone in my hands and literally don't take my eyes off it. What if Charles does write? Or will he call? Or maybe Dan will find out something? I don't want to miss even the slightest opportunity to learn something about the causes of this strange situation between us.

After "posing" in front of the paparazzi on the beach, we returned to the hotel. As we walked down the long corridor of the hotel rooms, I heard a painfully familiar voice – Charles. I immediately froze in place, and my heart seemed to do a somersault in my chest. Is he here, or am I having hallucinations? I looked around, but I didn't see anyone. I gave my companion the room key card and told her to go to the room. I went where I thought I heard a familiar voice.

I turned the corner, and it was as if I was punched in the gut – here he is, standing at the door of the room almost at the very end of the corridor. He's on the same floor as me. He's here. Damn it, he's here! I need to, no, I just have to go to him!

My head was immediately full of thoughts, but at the same time there was emptiness. While I was walking to Monegasque, who was standing with his back to me, I was trying to find the words I want to say to him. What do I want to say? Damn, damn, damn! The distance between us was catastrophically shrinking, and when I was a meter away from him, I couldn't find anything better than to squeeze out this stupid "Hi".

Charles didn't turn around, but he visibly flinched when he heard my voice. He was frantically trying to find something in the pocket of his pants, without saying a word.

"Hey, hey."

I touched his forearm, but he jerked his hand sharply, as if he had been electrocuted. What's the matter? Why is he reacting to me like that?

"Charles, I..."

"Just shut up and leave."

His voice. I've never heard his voice so sharp and cold before.

"What's the matter? I don't understand why you..."

"Me? So I'm the problem?"

He finally turned to face me, and I just didn't recognize the old Monegasque with whom I had recently exchanged cute talks after the races and from whose smile I melted both literally and figuratively. In front of me was an irritated, I would even say angry, and terribly tired Charles.

"I don't..."

"Just shut up. I have already realized that everything that happened between us was just a game for you and I no longer intend to continue being your toy or entertainment for the evening."

"Charles, what are you..."

"You heard what I said."

Abruptly swiping the key card on the lock on the door, he opened the door of his room and entered it, slamming the door before I had time to answer him at all. What kind of game? What is he even talking about? After this sudden meeting, I had even more questions.

I wanted to knock on his door, but I doubt that in this state he will tell me anything, if he opens the door at all. I just stood at the door for a while, as if trying to collect my thoughts, and then turned around and trudged back to my room. I'm more than sure that he won't walk to me now/

When I entered my room, I saw that my companion was going somewhere. She was telling me something, but I wasn't listening. I didn't hear anything or anyone around at all. My head is full of thoughts about Charles, about his words, about his behavior. What kind of "game"? What kind of "entertainment for the evening"? Why did he say so? Why doesn't he even want to talk to me and shies away like a leper? Why was his gaze, once filled with love, now is full of anger, irritation and... hatred? What the hell did I do?

I decided to call Dan, maybe he found out something and can help me understand what's going on. It's so strange – Charles and I have a relationship, and I'm asking for help with them from a person who found out about it by accident at all. But it was this man who became the one who, in fact, brought us together as a couple.

Barely waiting for the moment when the girl left the room, I immediately dialed the number of the Australian. I need to talk to him. What if he can help me with some advice? Well, or at least help me keep myself in hand, so that I don't start arranging the hell out of the hotel, trying to get through to Charles. The short beeps seemed to last forever, but soon Daniel answered the call.

"On the love front without changes?"

"Dan, he's here."

It seems that Dan was drinking something during the conversation, as it was heard that he seemed to choke on something.

"What do you mean? He's in your room? Everything okay? Have you really reconciled!"

"No, on the contrary."

There was silence on the phone, and I sighed heavily and told my friend everything that had happened literally half an hour ago. Retelling all this, I tried again to understand what was going on between Charles and me, but again – the result was zero. Dan was silent for a while, as if digesting what I had said.

"You know, buddy, you've always chosen a little strange people as your couple, but Charles is just like on a new level. I don't understand what's going on there at all. Moreover, none of the pilots are aware of such a sharp change in the behavior of the French ... Monegasque."

I smiled a little when I heard how Dan quickly corrected himself and called Charles a Monegasque, not a French. He can't stand being called a French.

"Yes, and I'm at a complete loss. I don't know what to do. Go and break into his room? Looking for him all over the island?"

"Yes, Max, breaking into the room and becoming a stalker was all you needed."

"Yes, you're right, I'm sorry. I just... I don't know what to do at all. How should I behave with him? How do I get him to talk? How in general can he be brought to a conversation if he doesn't even want to see me, but shies away from touching as if I'm beating him with a whip."

"Max, just don't try to do crazy shit, at least not there."

We laughed softly, because we both know that if I decide, then I really can start doing something out of hand and then Charles will definitely have to call the hotel security to kick me out of his room ... well, or from the door of his room.

Dan talked about how he spends his vacation – yes, he has time to rest while investigating the drama between Charles and me. Where did he get so much energy from? Sometimes I even envy him in this regard, even now – I don't have the strength at all for anything, both physically and morally.

After talking a little with a friend on the phone, we said goodbye and everyone went back to their business: he – to rest, I – to try to figure out what was happening. Even though I don't understand anything at all right now, but I won't give up so easily – I'll get answers from Charles. I will wait for the moment when he is ready to talk, and I will seek the opportunity to talk to him. I don't want to let our relationship break down. I'm not ready to put an end to it, and I'm sure Charles is not ready to do it either.

Chapter Text

Damn it, who would've thought that on the first day of my stay in Sardinia I would meet Max fucking Verstappen?! Yes, I remember that the hotel signed a contract with both "Ferrari" and "Red Bull", but I sincerely hoped that I would be able to spend these days of rest in peace and quiet. Although who am I kidding? I knew he'd be here. He, whose name until recently I pronounced with tenderness, and now I can't even perceive it by ear. He, whose touch used to give me comfort and tenderness, and now it stings like the bite of the most disgusting jellyfish. He's the one I used to be ready to run to at the first opportunity, and now I'm running away from him as far as possible. How quickly everything changed.

Our meeting at the hotel was... it wasn't what I imagined it to be. I would like to discuss everything calmly with him, but when he began to pretend that he didn't understand what was going on at all, I wanted to yell at him, hit him, send him to hell. But I restrained myself, barely, but I restrained myself. As I said before: passive aggression is my forte. Although, judging by my face and reaction to Verstappen, I managed to restrain myself very badly. Charles, what did you do well at all? Especially lately.

As soon as I was in my room, I pressed my back against the door, closed my eyes, in the corners of which treacherous wet drops began to accumulate, and pressed my palm to my chest. My legs seemed to stop holding me, so I rolled down and sat on the floor. Now there is only the door between Max and me, which I am so stubbornly propping up with my back. Do I want him to knock? Or do I want him to leave? I don't know what I want. Previously, hotel rooms were like a small shelters for Max and me, where we could be ourselves, where we were happy, where we were just like at home. Now the hotel room seems so empty, so cold, that I could swear that I'll freeze soon.

I felt a couple of drops fall on my knees and immediately roll down. Damn, am I crying? Because of him? How many times is my heart ready to jump out of my chest after meeting him?  There's nothing I can do about the fact that I still love him. Damn, did I admit to myself that I actually love him? Although what's the use of it now? Love will not disappear in a day, even if it is consumed by hatred, resentment and irritation.

I just noticed that my hands were shaking. Damn it, Max, what have you done to me? If I'm shaking now after meeting him, what will happen during the races? What if we have to stand side by side on the podium again? I can't. It will be beyond my strength. I can even already see the headlines: "Charles Leclerc ran off the podium" or "Charles Leclerc had a nervous breakdown after finishing in the prize position." Just perfect, isn't it?

Somehow I'm sure Max didn't leave right away. It was as if I felt that he was standing outside the door, as if he was waiting for something. But what does he want from me? He decided to break up with me. He wrote me those messages himself. He himself didn't give any explanation. He himself... he himself has come to me now. What for? Does he want to see how he managed to break me? Does he want to amuse his ego seeing how I'm suffering? Does he want to see how much he hurt me? And why did he pretend that he didn't understand what was going on, if he had done everything himself? If he plays the fool, then he does it perfectly. Plus one talent in the piggy bank of many talents of this jerk.

I don't know how long I sat on the floor. Time seemed to freeze, and emotions and thoughts decided to attack at the same time, killing any desire to move and do something. But somehow bringing myself back to normal, if that's what my current state can be called, I stuck away from the door and went to the mini-refrigerator. Drink. I'm just thirsty. My mouth just went dry and I need to drink something. That's because of how nervous I feel right now. I just want to drink a bottle of ice water in one gulp to cool down, because it seems to me that a fire is burning inside me, although I feel incredibly cold outside.

I remembered about the pills that my doctor prescribed for me, so I quickly found them in my suitcase and took them. "Take them when you feel that your nerves are about to give up. They will calm you down, and you will be able to act like any normal person," the doctor told me. It looks like it's time to heed his advice. Although it is unlikely that a person whose condition can only be controlled by pills can be called "normal".

After taking the pills, I lay down on the sofa. It remains to wait for the magic effect so that I can function as a "normal person". My hands are still shaking, even if not so much. Damn, why is everything going this way? Why when I become at least a little bit happier, something shitty happens and everything becomes even worse than it was? Charles, maybe you're just not meant to be happy? Maybe you just don't deserve anything good to happen to you?

I'm not going to win a championship in racing, I'm not going to have a happy relationship either, even my mental health has sent me to hell. So what am I hoping for anyway? The fact that one day everything will magically get better? That I might be needed by someone other than my family? That someone can love me? Maybe I just don't deserve love? And Max just clearly showed it to me. Congratulations, Charles, your thoughts have returned to Verstappen.

I sighed heavily, and after a short period of time I felt myself starting to calm down. Still, the pill was not as useless as I thought. I'll have to thank the doctor for it when I see him again.

Having become the "old" Charles again, I still decided to start my "work" on vacation today. I need to pose in front of the paparazzi cameras, show a happy couple with the girl I'm dating - well, that's what the press and fans think. Few people know about the real personal life of pilots, but it's for the best.

After writing a message and coordinating plans with my companion, an hour later we were at the pier, where a yacht was waiting for us. A short boat trip, photos of a couple in love on a yacht, then photos with family and friends to consolidate the image of the "ideal life" - that's all the work on camera during the holiday.

Every day I check photos in social networks from pilots' vacations - it's interesting how other people rest, what they do, maybe someone met someone and is resting like a normal person. Speaking of photos, one of the fans noticed that Max and I even dress in similar clothes. I even thought at one point that it was pretty... cute? Nice? It's like an unconscious sign that we are not indifferent to each other, as if we wear "paired clothes". But it really would be nice if we were in a relationship, but based on what we have now, it's even annoying. Just another and unnecessary reminder of each other's existence.

The days flew by one after another, the working vacation went on as usual and everything would have been as usual only if I hadn't tried not to run into the Dutchman in or out of the hotel. My only salvation was the sea, or rather going to sea on a yacht for a couple of days, where Verstappen definitely would not have appeared out of the blue.

But all good things come to an end, so my real vacation on the yacht was soon replaced by regular escapes from Max. As soon as I notice him somewhere near me, I immediately try to get away; if I see him in the recreation area at the hotel, I go to the beach and vice versa. Sometimes it seems to me that he appears on purpose where I am or where I want to go. Maybe he's playing with me again? How was it then on the track? Continues to play "cat and mouse" game, where my role is a hunted mouse?

Anyway, I don't want not to see, not to hear, not to communicate with him. Yes, we haven't been in a relationship that long, but maybe we've just been trying to figure out what was between us for too long? Although who am I kidding? Charles, wake up, for him it was just a game, and you are another hobby. So accept it and move on.

Chapter Text

It seems to me that I will get more tired during this vacation than during the last half of the season. Everything initially goes awry – that stupid breakup with Charles, his categorical refusal to talk about it, and now he literally avoids me. I constantly try to find him at the hotel, then on the beach, then in other places of rest, but as soon as he notices me, he immediately runs away.

I still didn't understand why he was reacting to me like that, but Dan didn't manage to find out anything either. What did I do? Why does he blame me for something? Dan advised me to try to remember what I did in general in the evening after winning the Belgian Grand Prix. This is much easier said than done, because then I got so drunk that in the morning I wanted to die more than to live.

I sat in the hotel room and reread our messages over and over again. It seems to me that I will soon learn all of it by heart, I will know all his voice messages minute by minute, I will even be able to transmit intonations as in the messages itself. It seems to me that soon I'll be the one who needs to have some visits to psychiatrist. If I'll be treated by a shrink, maybe then I can understand Charles a little bit more?

I was flipping through my chat with him when my so-called girlfriend came to the room. Another shopping trip ended with a bunch of packages from boutiques and the deduction of several thousand euros from the account. One thing pleases me - she has her own money, I have my own, so her shopping and so on doesn't concern me in at all.

I was still thinking about Charles when the girl came up to me and sat down on the sofa next to me.

"Looking at his phone again and didn't even notice that I'd come back. Didn't you miss me at all?"

"Strange question, knowing perfectly well what kind of relationship we have."

I immediately closed the correspondence with Monegasque and answered quite calmly, now staring at the panoramic window of the room. The girl apparently didn't like my answer very much, but as if I care about it.

"Well, yes, I'm not "Charlie" to miss me."

She said it in a sarcastic tone, and it hit me like an electric shock. "Charlie"? I used to call Charles that sometimes in our correspondence. Did she saw our texts?

Seeing my confusion, she sat down and looked at me with such stare, as if expecting an excuse from me, but I did not think to justify myself, especially for this. This is my life, damn it.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Max, I know everything about you and the French guy."

"Monegasque."

I began to correct everyone who calls him a "French" and didn't even immediately understand what she said at all. Does she know about us? What does she mean?

"I don't care. I know about your relationship and it's totally wrong. That's why I helped you get rid of him."

She said it in a completely calm tone and began to defiantly examine her nails, while I tried to figure out what it all meant.

"What are you talking about?"

She sighed as if I were a child and asked her to explain completely banal things to me.

"Max, if you don't want someone to find out your secrets, then don't leave your phone unattended."

"What did you do?"

"I just helped him understand that you don't need him anymore."

"I repeat: what. did. you do?"

"I did nothing..."

"What the fuck did you do?!"

I jumped up from the sofa and shouted at the girl, and she calmly looked at me and folded her arms on her chest.

"Max, this relationship is wrong. I only wanted to help you..."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, I asked what you did?! Answer me!"

"I texted Leclerc from your phone while you were getting drunk at the party."

And as if by a snap of my fingers, I remembered that I had left my phone on the table where I was sitting with her, Checo and his wife, and I went to the bar to get some drinks. Apparently, that's when she found out everything. Damn, what a fool I am! How could I leave the phone at all, knowing perfectly well what exactly I keep in it? I'm just a real idiot, a jerk, a fucking moron!

"What did you write to him? And where are those messages?"

"That you don't need him, that everything between you and him was just a game and in general he was just another toy for you. And the messages I... I deleted them later so that you wouldn't find out anything."

That's why Charles talked about the "game" and other nonsense. She wrote it all, and Charles is sure it was me. How the hell am I supposed to fix this now?! How can I prove that I didn't do anything?!

I started walking around the room chaotically and trying to figure out what to do next. What should I do? How do I convince Charles that I didn't do anything and I didn't write those messages? He doesn't even want to see me, so my excuses will be considered complete nonsense. And how can I even catch him for a conversation if he runs away from me like from fire?

While I was trying to come up with at least some plan of action, the girl came up to me and put her hand on my shoulder.

"Max, why do you need him? Do you understand what will happen if someone finds out about your relationship? And what can be consequences of that? It's so stupid and..."

"Shut the fuck up. I didn't ask for your opinion on this. I didn't ask you for advice. I didn't ask you to get into my phone and read my messages. Although, what could I expect from someone who doesn't even know such a feeling as love?"

I grinned, and the girl walked away from me, and I realized from her look that I strike a nerve. But I didn't care. I was ready to destroy her on the spot for all the shit that she's done. She literally destroyed the only thing that brought me joy lately. I was filled with anger, and I think that thanks to my self-control that I didn't have a meltdown and destroy everything around me, as a result of which I would definitely have a court and millions of lawsuits waiting for me.

I looked at her with such furious look that her self-confidence and assumed calmness cracked. She felt uncomfortable, and I felt like I was bursting, so I just told her everything I thought about her. Everything that I kept in my mind. Everything that I will definitely not regret later.

"What? Am I wrong? You know just like everyone else, that I got you along with the place in the "Red Bull". You know that I have no feelings for you and have never had any. You know that if I hadn't been in Kvyat's place, you would have been with the one who took his place in the team instead of me. You're just an accessory for the pilot, nothing more. You are a dummy, just an empty shell, which is flattered by the status of a world champion's girlfriend. You are not worthy of love, and you don't need it, because fame and prestige are way more important to you, and you aren't capable of feelings at all. You're just...

She slapped me to shut up, but I think that I didn't even felt any pain. Well, or the physical pain is much weaker than what I felt inside all this time. We both knew perfectly well that I was right. I grinned once again, picked up my phone and left the room, leaving her all alone.

I need to call Dan right away and tell him everything. Damn, the answer was right under my nose the whole time, and it was so obvious! How didn't I think of it right away? What a fool I am! I'm just a blind fool!

While I was dialing Dan's number on the phone, I didn't notice how my feet brought me to the door of the room where Charles lives. I froze in front of the door again, not knowing what to do. Knock and ask to enter? Should I try to explain myself? Banging on the door until he either lets me into the room or the guards drag me away from here? I can imagine what kind of scandal would break out then, but now I frankly don't care about it.

I decided to knock anyway, but I didn't hear anything in response. I knocked again – still nothing. Then I decided to listen to what was happening in the room and put my ear to the door: silence. Maybe he's just not here right now? Or has he decided to ignore me after all?

I knocked on the door again and again there was no answer. I pressed my forehead against the door and sighed heavily.

"Charles, if you're there, please open the door. We need to talk. I understood what it was all about, and I can explain everything. Those messages..."

The door in front of me opened and a middle-aged woman in a hotel maid uniform looked at me. I was taken aback, because obviously I didn't expect to see someone here, except as a Monegasque.

"I... excuse me, but where is the person who's staying in this room?"

"He gone. I came to clean. To clean the room."

Although the woman spoke bad English, but I still understood her. Has Charles left? But where? Did he leave somewhere for a short time or did he leave the hotel? While I was asking myself these questions, the woman closed the door and probably returned to her work duties.

I suddenly felt a wave of anger, frustration, confusion, despair wash over me, so I cursed loudly and hit the wall with my fist – there was not even a dent left on the wall, but bruises appeared on my knuckles. Heck! How could I have missed him? How do I find him now? And where should I look for him at all?

I wandered down the hall to the elevator, where I finally managed to call Dan. I briefly told him everything that had happened over the past couple of hours, and honestly, it seemed to me that he wasn't even surprised by this turn of events. He suspected, though he doubted, that I wasn't behind it at all. He knew how I felt about Charles and that I would never hurt him, no, no, no – he knew that I definitely would never hurt him.

But what should I do now? Sit and wait for the beginning of the second half of the season, where I will definitely be able to see Charles? It's too long. I have to find him, and find him as soon as possible. I have to tell him how it really was and try to bring back everything that was between us. So I decided that I would pack my things right away and return to Monaco, and from there I would start looking for my Monegasque.

Chapter Text

After spending less than a week in a hotel in Sardinia, I decided to leave as soon as possible. Firstly, I have already done my "contract work", so now I can really rest. Secondly, the sooner I leave, the sooner I will get rid of the opportunity to see Max somewhere other than the racetrack. So as soon as the PR agent informed me that the job was done, and I was free almost until the end of the break, I immediately packed my suitcase, checked out of the hotel and flew off the island. My companion also left the island, but I don't know where she went next, since I didn't even think to ask.

As soon as I returned to Monaco, in my apartment, in my castle walls, only then did I realize that I could lock myself in here until the end of my vacation and arrange for myself a voluntary "self-isolation" from society. Only me and my thoughts will be here. And I definitely have something to think about.

And as usual, the most reliable place where I can completely give myself up to my thoughts is the bathroom. I took a shower and then stood in front of my best psychologist – mirror. I looked at my reflection: tired and faded green eyes, which makes the look even more tired, noticeable bags under the eyes, curling hair that has already grown, and the face looks haggard. Usually during the holidays, everyone becomes more alive and healthy at least in appearance, but I look like I'm sick of something. But on the other hand, can a broken heart be called a disease? Because I have all the symptoms. But why don't doctor then provide such a diagnosis?

It seems to me that I am really sick. I'm sick of that damn Dutchman. I can't spend a day without thinking about him. Not a day without memories of what happened between us. Not a day without the desire to drop everything and find him, just throw myself into his arms and come what may. It seems to me that he has become a part of me: he is in my thoughts, he is in my heart, he is in my blood. And by blood I mean literally – we sometimes bite each other's lips, so our kiss became a little bit bloody and salty And I can't get rid of him, no matter how hard I try. I won't be able to avoid him forever, because we are both Formula 1 drivers, and we'll have to meet on the track anyway. And no one has canceled joint events, so I'll be able to avoid it only if one of us decides to leave the race, but neither he nor I will go for it. Although Max said that he might soon get bored with racing, but I doubt that he will decide to leave races and do something else instead. And I can't quit racing because of my promise to my godfather. So the prospects here are not the best.

I looked at my reflection and remembered everything that had happened to me lately: races, meetings, relationships, breakups, all the joy and all the pain that I was lucky and had to go through. I remembered all our kisses, our nights, our hugs and all the warm memories of it were replaced by a monstrous pain and disappointment in my heart. The pain that consumed all the good things and turned them into shattered memories.

But the pain was replaced by anger, I looked at my reflection again and threw a heavy soap dish into the mirror. The shards scattered all over the room, and it seemed to make me feel better. I no longer saw that tired Charles in the mirror. I no longer saw that naive fool who allowed himself to be fooled by that damn Dutchman.

I wandered from the bathroom to the bedroom to change, and then into the living room, where I collapsed on the sofa and turned on the TV. I didn't even delve into what was being shown there, but just clicked through the channels one by one, as if trying to distract myself from all the shit that was happening in my life. The saddest thing is that I don't even have anyone to share it with, because those who know about our relationship can be counted on the fingers of one hand. I didn't tell Pierre about Max and me, because he can't stand him and now I get why exactly; I can't cry to Carlos and Lando, because they can hardly understand me; crying to Dan is not an option at all, he's Max's best friend. What if I tell him, and then he tells Max everything, and they both just laugh at how fucked up I am right now? I don't want to tell my family about this either. I am sure that my mother and brothers will understand me, maybe even try to support me, but I don't want them to worry too much about me, and this will not be avoided.

If I'll tell my doctor – he'll just start wailing one of his "healing" mantras and prescribe the pills, which I don't see much use for. From the whole list that he prescribed for me, only sedatives and sleeping pills help me.

I even tried to write a diary once, but I didn't last long doing this. It's hard to concentrate on writing when thoughts come faster than you have time to write them down, or even just formulate them.

So instead of writing a diary, I went into music. It was funny when I released one of my works, and it gained popularity on the Internet and even entered some "top-lists". On the one hand, I'm even pleased that people liked it, but on the other hand, I write music of my emotions, my feelings, my thoughts and share it with the whole world. I am writing about myself, but experiencing all this storm of feelings at every listening is quite exhausting both morally and physically. But anyway, music has always been my salvation.

And so I sat down at the piano again. I took out my phone and turned on the recording - I always record how I play so that I can look at all my mistakes later, or just not forget the melody.

I was away from home for a long time, because during the racing season, hotels become houses for pilots, so the keys managed to get covered with a thin layer of dust. I find some special charm in this – untouched dusty keys seemed to beckon me to them. I ran my fingertips over them, then closed my eyes and just started playing. The fingers seemed to press the right keys by themselves, the sounds of which formed into a melody. I thought about everything that had happened to me lately, recalled and relived all the feelings – joy, confusion, love, pain, passion, disappointment, anger.

I just gave myself up to feelings, and feelings poured out into a melody. I played, expressed my feelings through music, my body swayed a little from side to side as I stretched from one side of the piano to the other. I never would have thought that it would be much easier for me to play with my eyes closed than with my eyes open. I didn't see or hear anyone or anything around – now there was only me, my feelings and the piano giving out the magic melody of my feelings.

I played, my fingers seemed to run over the keys themselves, and thin trickles of tears ran down my cheeks. I decided at least now to give myself complete freedom of action, so soon the keys became wet, and the melody acquired a sad shade. My heart felt heavy and the pain started to sting again, but I played and played like I had never played before.

The music filled the whole space around me, and I would like this moment to last forever, but like everything else, every melody has an end. With a heavy sigh, I finally finished playing and took my hands off the keys. After sitting in complete silence for a while, and as if returning from the world of sad sounds, I turned off the recording on my phone and got up from the banquette. Leaving the phone on the piano, I went into the bedroom – I want to lie down again and forget about everything for a while.

Without even thinking about changing into pajamas, I got into bed, covered myself with a blanket and closed my eyes. Yes, it's a pretty hot summer outside right now, but I'm cold. I feel so cold, as if my once hot heart was taken out of my chest, stuffed into the freezer and returned, and along with the blood from the heart, a real cold was spreading through my body.

I had already taken a sleeping pill and covered myself with a blanket over my head, as if hiding so from the outside world. Memories began to pop up in my head again, but the effect of the sleeping pills turned out to be faster, and soon I fell into a restless, but still sleep.

Chapter Text

It's the last weekend before the start of the second half of the racing season, so I thought it would be quite nice to meet with the drivers to have a good fun. I sent messages in advance with an invitation to the party to all nineteen pilots - someone immediately agreed, someone had to be persuaded, someone at first refused because of "personal issues", but eventually agreed to come anyway, and one person did not respond at all.

This man turned out to be my best friend, Charles Leclerc. I remember that at the beginning of the vacation, Danny Rick called me and asked about him, I even began to worry myself, because he didn't even answer my calls, but then I saw his photos from the vacation on the Internet and calmed down - he wasn't at home all this time.

But now he is not answering calls or messages again. What kind of Monegasque manner is this? I know for sure that he has already returned to Monaco, so I didn't wait for an answer from him on the phone, but just took the keys to my car, jumped into it and drove to my friend's house.

It's a good thing we don't live that far from each other, so soon my car was parked outside Charles' apartment. And I was right - he was at home, as his beloved "Ferrari 488 Pista Spider" was parked in the parking lot.

When I got to the door of my friend's apartment, I first tried to call him again. Beeps, beeps, beeps and no answer, although even standing outside the door I could hear his phone ringing.

I raised my hand and knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked again, but more insistently, and soon I heard footsteps outside the door, and a second later the door opened in front of me.

"Hi, you didn't answer the message... are you all right?"

The sight of my friend alerted me, but I didn't understand why exactly: he either decided to sleep through the rest of the time before the race, or he got sick. And it's better to let the first option be the reason.

Charles nodded and let me into the house. The decor of the house was pretty good - everything is clean, nothing is lying around, everything was whole and there were no shards or something like that. It means that he didn't have a meltdown.

"So, what's wrong with you? Are you sick or something?"

"Yeah, I got Dutch flu. My whole body aches, I want to sleep constantly, well, everything is on the list."

He rubbed his already sleepy eyes and sat down on the sofa in the living room, and I sat in the chair opposite him and crossed my legs.

"But seriously?"

He looked at me and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Charles, since the beginning of your vacation, your behavior has changed a lot. And by "a lot" I really mean it. You don't answer calls and messages, you almost don't use social networks, it even seems to me that the last time you talked to someone face-to-face was more than a week ago."

My friend cleared his throat, shrugged, and then pulled up his legs and rested his chin on his knees. I sat down more comfortably and leaned forward a little.

"Seriously, what's going on with you? We're best friends. We know everything about each other, but even I can't figure out what's wrong with you right now."

Charles sighed heavily, took his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants and handed it to me. I raised an eyebrow questioningly, and he just told me to find and read the messages from Verstappen. I don't even know what tempted me more: curiosity or a real desire to understand the situation.

I opened a chat with the Dutchman on his phone and quickly ran through the messages. At first I thought it was some kind of joke - it's some kind of love correspondence, because it definitely can't be called friendly. But then I looked at Charles and the fact that his dimmed eyes were filled with tears and I realized that this wasn't a joke and they are really in a relationship... were in a relationship.

I silently handed the phone to a friend, and he immediately put it in his pocket. I rubbed my temples, hoping that this way I could collect my brains and digest the situation. I wasn't even offended that he didn't tell me that he was dating Verstappen. But what I don't understand is why the hell this complete jerk decided to leave Charles and didn't even explain anything. I knew he was a fucking toxic, that's why I dislike him, but I didn't think that he was so incredible toxic and stupid moron. And it really hurts me to see my best friend in such a state - even after that painful breakup with Charlotte, he wasn't so broken.

Silently getting up from the chair, I went to Charles' kitchen, where I made him and myself a cup of tea, and also ordered food delivery to his address - we have a very long conversation ahead, so it definitely won't hurt to eat something before shit hits the fan. Tonight I definitely don't intend to leave my best friend alone with gnawing thoughts.

All the time I was making tea for us and then picking up the order from the courier, Charles didn't seem to move at all. So as soon as I was done with all the preparations, I sat down on the sofa next to a friend and turned on the TV. After clicking through a couple of channels, I opted for some kind of comedy like "A haunted house" - such movies don't bother at all, so it will not interfere with the conversation.

I handed a mug of tea to Charles, and he accepted it without any objections. After taking a sip, I decided to start a conversation anyway. At first, Leclerc didn't really want to talk about this topic - and I can understand him, because no one likes to talk about personal topics, especially if everything is very bad, but when he finally relaxed, he answered my questions more calmly and in detail.

Soon I was just asking him leading questions, and he was answering, telling me everything that happened to both him and Max, and them as a couple. He told me how it all started between them, how they spent time together, about their conversations, he told me everything that had accumulated in him during this time, and I just listened to him and didn't interrupt.

At the moments when he talked about their first kiss, their time in hotels, their games and flirting on the same track under hundreds of cameras and millions of viewers, he smiled happily and gesticulated actively; when the conversation turned to the incident in Max's break room with his father, he was visibly angry, and when it came to before the messages from Max and the breakup, Charles's eyes filled with tears again and he buried his face in his knees, not wanting to show his tears.

I sat down closer to him and put my arm around his shoulders. I could feel him shuddering because of the tears, which soon turned into real sobs. He was sobbing as if he had just given vent to all his accumulated feelings. And I just hugged him tightly and made it clear that I was there and would support him in any situation.

I don't know how long we sat like that, but I was glad that he felt at least a little easier. I was glad that he finally spoke out and gave vent to his emotions. And I was also glad that I finally understood what kind of situation my best friend was in. But I was still worried about one question, which I nevertheless decided to ask Charles when he calmed down a little.

"Listen, if he decided to leave you, then why did he look for a meeting with you and say that he didn't understand anything? Doesn't that seem strange to you?"

Charles shrugged and sipped his tea, which had already cooled down. I leaned back on the sofa and tried to understand Verstappen's motives, but still something was wrong there. Either he acts somehow illogically, or he has played champion too much and thinks that everything is allowed to him at all. If the second option works here, then I will find a way to get him down from heaven to earth, since I will not let offend and hurt my friend.

"Maybe he wrote it drunk, and now he pretends that he doesn't remember anything?"

Charles said softly, his voice slightly hoarse after sobbing.

"It just doesn't fit, Charles. Why would he do that to you? Well, just think about it."

I looked at my friend, but he just shrugged his shoulders once again. Just to think logically, what's the point of him torturing the pilot of another team like that? I would understand if he was in the lead and would pose a real threat to Verstappen at the races, then yes. Then he could try to break him down, thereby getting him out of the way. But then he wouldn't be running after him like he's doing now.

"He broke up you, but he was looking for a meeting with you. He broke up with you, but forced Dan to literally knock out the reasons for your strange behavior from people in your environment. If he didn't care about you, he wouldn't do it, but would just live happily like he's used to do."

Charles listened to everything I said in silence, but did not say a word in response. My words about Dan clearly surprised him, because he clearly didn't expect Max to ask his friend about this. Although it was possible to guess, because Dan himself showed up at Charles' house.

"Have you talked to him? Did you discuss what happened?"

"No."

He shook his head and, sighing heavily, leaned back on the sofa.

"I don't think I can handle talking to him. I'm afraid."

Charles turned his head and looked at me, and I could swear I'd never seen such a haunted look.

"Why are you afraid?"

"What if he says the same thing that was in the messages?"

"What if it doesn't?"

He sighed heavily, and I lightly patted his hair.

"You need to talk. Even with the worst outcome, at least you'll know that it's really over and you can move on. And so it turns out that it's like you're both stuck in this unknown, only you're afraid and running away from the opportunity to resolve everything, and he's trying to resolve everything, but he can't."

Charles looked at me intently, and then he laughed. I didn't understand why he reacted like that at all, so I just raised an eyebrow questioningly.

He waved his hand and still smiling softly said:

"This is the first time you've defended him. Usually you're ready to sink him like the iceberg did to "Titanic", and then you just took his side. Are you even my friend or his, huh?"

Now we both laughed. And it's true - I have never supported and wasn't on the best terms with Verstappen, but in this situation it seems to me that he may well not be as bad as he seems.

We chatted a little more, I made Charles eat, and then I sent him to bed - sobbing and outburst of emotions is always accompanied by fatigue. I decided that I would spend the night in his apartaments and sleep on the couch, just in case.

After putting Charles to bed, I lay down on the sofa in the living room and took out my phone. Of course, I will not let my friend continue to wither like this from day to day, so I found a contact on the phone of a person who can help resolve this "Santa Barbara" drama.

Me:
"Danny Rick, halp needed. Remember when I invited you to a party earlier? Make sure Verstappen is going too."

Chapter Text

I never would have thought that I would work together with Pierre Gasly to bring our friends together. Even the idea itself seems ridiculous. Pierre and I have never been enemies, but we're also not the best friends, too, but what can you not do for the happiness of two fools who can't solve their own problems by themselves?

When I received a call from Max, at first it was very difficult for me to understand what he was saying at all – apparently, the guy was too excited because of the information that had been revealed, so he chattered into the phone as if he had a limited time of communication on the phone. But then he was able to tell me everything calmly: everything turned out exactly as I suspected, but did not work out as a version. I just never could have thought that his "wanna-be-girlfriend" could fall so low, and why would she? She obviously doesn't have feelings for Max, it can be seen with the naked eye. Even in an interview, when Max was asked about their "cute names" for each other, he didn't answer anything. "This is our secret," he said. Of course, it's much easier to tell everyone that that's so-called "secret" when there are no such "cute names" at all. And where can they come from, if the only thing that binds this couple is a contract? And everyone knows about it, it's just that no one talks about it among the pilots. Well, why dig into someone else's dirty laundry?

After that call, Max asked me to help him find Charles, as this nimble lover managed to pack up and check out of the hotel. I advised him to return to Monaco and start searching from there, because his vacation is coming to an end soon, so it's unlikely that Charles will go somewhere else to rest. So the probability that Leclerc will be at home is extremely high.

I decided to fly to Monaco, too, to insure a friend just in case, but literally on arrival I received a message from Monsieur Gasly. He throws another party to celebrate the end of the summer break and the beginning of the second half of the racing season. But something in his message both alarmed and inspired me. He told Max to come to the party too. Everyone knows that Pierre and Max don't like each other, but they don't show it much. Pierre considers Max to be the personification of toxicity, and Max doesn't like Pierre because of his arrogance. But, to be honest, they are both good in terms of toxicity and arrogance. So it was pretty weird to see him asking for Max's mandatory presence at the party.

But my curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to call Gasly to find out what was the reason for such a demand for the Dutchman at his party. Maybe he is aware of the relationship between Max and Charles and wants to arrange a public execution of the first because of the suffering of the second? They're best friends, after all. Or vice versa – wants to try to reconcile them? It seems like some kind of unbeliveable option at all.

--- Flashback ---

When I landed at the airport, I dialed Gasly's number to ask about his invitation to the party. What I like about Pierre is that he always answers calls pretty quickly, so when I dialed his number, I literally heard a Frenchman's voice on the phone in a couple of seconds.

"Danny Rick, long time no seen"

"Yeah, yeah, bonjour, buddy. Listen, it's about your message."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Your request to bring Max there. Why?"

I admit, my curiosity very often takes over, but in this situation — it will even be on hand. Gasly hesitated for a moment.

"Mon ami, If you know too much you'll get old too soon."

"Well, I'm not getting any younger either."

We both laughed, but this time I don't want to get away from the topic, especially since it's pretty serious.

"Well, why would he be there? And why you're demand to see him there?"

"Dan, did you know about Max and Charles?"

I was taken aback by this question. So Gasly knows, too? I wonder who among the pilots in general is not aware of the relationship of these two blockheads? Or does everyone already know about it?

"Um, well... yeah, I know. Or rather, I knew...for some time"

"I want to reconcile them, and you will help me in this."

And again, Gasly shocks me. Does he want to reconcile Max and Charles? Our friends? A toxic Dutchman and a vulnerable Monegasque? Moreover, he need my help in this? It's funny, because I once wanted to ask him for help in the same case.

"Um... help? Do you have an idea how to do this? Otherwise, I've already been racking my brainwhile trying to understand the cause of their break up."

"Wait, isn't it about Max and his messages?"

"Have you seen those messages?"

"Yes, Charles showed them to me when I was at his place."

So, Charles is still in Monaco, that's good – I won't have to look for him all over the world. Our conversation with Pierre dragged on, as he asked, no, demanded that I tell him everything I had learned about those messages. I told him everything Max had told me: about the meeting at the hotel, and how Charles avoided Max, and he kept trying to catch him for a conversation, and when he found out that his "girlfriend" was behind all this and wanted to go talk to Monegasque without delay, and then he found out, that he had already left the hotel. Pierre was not so much shocked as angry.

--- The end of the flashback ---

Our plan was very simple: Pierre traditionally arranges a party at his place and drags Charles to it, and I, in turn, will have to bring Max there. And then we have to do everything we can to make sure that these two are in the same room and finally talk. I just feel that there will be screams and, perhaps, a fight, but what can't you stand for love? And the bighest advantage of this will be that because of the loud music in the house, their swearing will not be heard ... at least I hope so.

Pierre sent Max a message with an invitation, but he didn't answer at first, so I got involved and thanks to my persuasion skills, I still managed to persuade my friend to go to the party. Of course, he was not aware of our plan, although I doubt that he would have been against this idea, because he was the one who kept trying to catch Charles to explain himself.

All the time until "Day X", Pierre and I kept in touch, just not to fuck up our plan. Judging by his stories, Charles didn't want to agree to go to any party any time soon, and even the Frenchman's lie that Max wouldn't be there didn't bribe him. Maybe Gasly just doesn't know how to lie? Leclerc agreed to go only after Pierre systematically pestered him with requests to come, and then said that for his sake he would not call anyone from "Red Bull" at all, especially "that toxic asshole Verstappen." Well, it seems that Charles is in for a surprise, but I'm at a loss to say whether it's pleasant or not.

Max and I agreed in advance that I would pick him up and we would go to the party together - so I would feel safer that he would definitely show up there. So I've been standing outside his house for five minutes now, waiting for his Dutch Majesty to deign to come out. I called him, to which he said he was on his way, but he never came. If he's not there in a couple of minutes, then I'll have to go to him and drag him into the car by force.

But as soon as I thought about it, Max went outside and came up to me. We greeted each other, exchanged a few phrases, got into my car and went to the Frenchman's house. Gasly and I specifically arranged for Max and me to arrive a little later - he wanted to convince Charles that Max would definitely not be there.

When we arrived at our destination, the music was already blaring at full volume, as if this was not a residential building, but a nightclub. After parking, I looked around the parking lot at the Gasly house – I cant see Charles's famous car. Didn't he come? Or did Pierre personally drag him so that he certainly wouldn't think of missing the evening?

Max and I entered the house, where I immediately began to look for the host of the party. Max was looking for Charles with his eyes - he thinks he won't be here, but I can see that deep down he still hopes otherwise. I noticed Norris in the crowd and sent Max to him - they are good friends, so they will definitely find topics for conversation for the evening while I am busy looking for Pierre.

Having managed to say hello to almost everyone, I finally found a Frenchman. We immediately stepped aside to discuss the situation. Pierre really brought Charles here himself, though in the morning, and not just before the party. He told him that he needed help preparing for the party, and he agreed, just to occupy his head with any thoughts, that aren't connected with Max.

Pierre said that Charles often disappears on the terrace, so it is quite possible that he and Max will not see each other in the house itself, which work to our advantage. Why on the terrace? Because it is quieter and there is no one there, which means that he can fall into a melancholic state, which has become familiar to Charles.

The party was in full swing when Pierre came up to me again and said that Charles had once again gone to the closed terrace in another part of the house. Pierre told him that it would be quieter and calmer in that part if he wanted to be alone so much, to which he agreed.

"He wanted to be alone again."

"Well, I think it's time for us to act."

Gasly nodded, and we quickly found our second target in the crowd - Max. As strange as it may sound, neither Max nor Charles drank a drop of alcohol tonight. Apparently, Max doesn't want to repeat the mistakes of that fateful party.

As we agreed, Pierre sent Charles to a quiet place, so now it's my turn to make Max go there too. I approached a friend and said that we needed to talk seriously about his relationship issues with Charles, but it was better to discuss everything away from other people's eyes. And ears. So we agreed to meet on the enclosed terrace in five minutes.

Pierre and I watched our subjects: he watched Charles, I watched Max. Charles never left the terrace, and a few minutes later Max moved towards the designated place. We followed him unnoticed, and as soon as he entered the room, Pierre immediately locked the door behind him, and put the key in his pocket.

I don't know if any of them heard the sound of the lock or not, but no one pulled the door handle. Maybe they really didn't notice? Well, it's for the best.

"Birds in a cage."

I grinned, and Pierre laughed softly and nodded. Now we can only sit under the door of the terrace, listen and hope that these two will not arrange a real massacre there.

Chapter Text

Even though Dan managed to drag me to the party, my mood wasn't cheerful at all. How can I have fun if my thoughts are occupied with completely different things? I understand that he dragged me here out of good intentions - I need to relax a bit, gather my thoughts, and so on, but ... it's unlikely that I will succeed.

Arriving at Pierre's house, I immediately began to look for the only one person among the guests, but, unfortunately, I never found him. That's why Dan sent me to Lando - he's my friend, and he knows how to have fun in any situation, maybe he can cheer me up too? So Dan and I split up and I went to the Brit.

The party went on as usual - someone decided to have some fun and get drunk, someone decided to just spend the evening in a pleasant company of friends, someone, for example, I decided to just try to distract myself with conversations with different pilots, without drinking a drop of alcohol. Once I already made a huge mistake because of my stupidity, which was only provoked by alcohol, the second time I don't want to make a mistake, even though I have nothing much to lose.

About twenty minutes later, I got a message from Dan on my phone. At first I was surprised, because he could just come up to me and say what he wanted, so I looked around the room, but I didn't see a friend there. Maybe he's out? Anyway, the message needs to be read.

Honey badger:

"Bro, I have a problem here, so you better make it quick on the closed terrace."

Well, there's nothing to do, and I just have to help my friend, so I asked the guys where the closed terrace is, and then I headed towards the place where Dan is waiting for me.

I'm lucky at least that I don't suffer from topographic cretinism, so I found the right room pretty quickly. I went inside - the lights were dimmed on the terrace, so it took me a while to realize that I wasn't alone here. Of course, Dan was supposed to be waiting for me here, but I don't see him here. I wanted to get out and pulled the door handle a couple of times - it wouldn't budge. I didn't hear the door slam, so...It means that he locked me in here? But why ?

I pulled the door handle a couple more times, but this time it didn't budge either. I turned around and pressed my back against the door. Sighing, I looked around the room - fortunately, my eyes quickly got used to the dimness of the terrace. My gaze froze on the figure standing at the other end of the room. Charles. I'm trapped here with Charles.

Even in the semi-darkness, I saw his surprised look. Yes, he was as surprised as I was, but, what is even stranger, there was not a drop of irritation or anger in his gaze, as it was in a hotel in Sardinia.

We looked at each other in silence, but I literally felt the air between us electrified. My body tensed like a string. I didn't even feel such tension during the races.

I want to tell him everything I've learned, to ask him for forgiveness, even though I'm not really to blame for anything. Damn it, I'm ready to throw myself on my knees in front of Monegasque, if only he would allow me to touch him, hug him. Hug him and never let go.

The minutes of silence seemed like an eternity to me, and I could see that Charles was as tense as I was. Does he want to say something too? Or does he wants to run away from here too? Wants to scream at me? I'm ready to accept everything.

Taking a deep breath, I decided to start a conversation anyway. I moved away from the door and took a couple of steps towards Charles, who in turn took a couple of steps back. I stopped - I don't want to escalate the situation even more.

"Charles, we need to..."

"Don't. Just let me go."

"Not until we could talk."

"We have nothing to talk about."

He said it briefly and there was a note of irritation in his voice. I sighed again and moved a little to the side, then pointed to the door for him. He hesitated for a moment, but then quickly walked past me and pulled the door handle. As expected, the door didn't budge.

"Pierre, open the fucking door right now! Do you hear me?! Open the damn door, damn you!"

I crossed my arms across my chest and watched as Monegasque pulled the door handle to no avail and pounded on the door. When he finally realized that his efforts wouldn't bear any fruit, he pressed his forehead against the door and sighed heavily.

"Apparently, we don't have much choice."

He said nothing in response. It seems to me that he didn't react at all. Well, I guess I'll try again.

"Charles, those messages. I didn't send them."

He chuckled softly, but didn't turn to me.

"Are you shifting the blame on others again?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's never your fault. There is always someone who does everything for you. Whether it's Daniel, Lando, or even now you blame someone for deciding to break up with me."

"I didn't break up with you and I never even thought about it."

He grinned again and nodded his head slightly. I couldn't stand it and in a couple of steps approached him, pulled him by the shoulder, thereby forcing him to turn to face me.

I looked at Charles carefully and said in as calm a tone as possible.

"I didn't broke up with you."

"So what? Have you played enough with me and decided to finish the game? Are you fuckin satisfied to see me broken? "

"I didn't play with you and didn't broke up with you! Listen to me!"

I couldn't help myself and slammed the door with my palms on both sides of Charles' shoulders. He startled in surprise, then pushed me in the chest and wanted to move away, but I caught him by the wrist.

"I never thought about leaving you. I never considered what was between us to be some kind of game. And I never wrote you those damn messages!"

"Really? Then did they magically appear on my phone themselves? Do you realize how absurd that sounds?"

Charles jerked his hand, trying to free his hand, but I have a strong grip and I won't let him go until he listens to everything I have to say to him.

"They were written by "my girlfriend"."

He said nothing and looked away while I held his wrist tightly and tried to catch his gaze.

"It was at a party after the Belgian Grand Prix. Do you remember when we didn't even have time to exchange a couple of phrases?"

Charles swallowed and bit his lower lip. He remembers very well how the evening after the race was then.

"Our team, together with all the families and others, went to celebrate. I was upset that you weren't around, so I got drunk then."

Monegasque tilted his head back a little and closed his eyes. He remembers exactly that evening, because that's when he got those damn messages.

"I was so drunk and stupid that I left my phone on the table. Yes, I know that I'm a complete idiot, since it happened."

I sighed, as if taking a breath to tell everything further while I have a chance. While Charles is here. Until he chased me away and tried to break out again.

"She read our messages."

Charles visibly shuddered and finally turned his gaze to me. I saw in his eyes everything at once: fear, irritation, relief, and hope. Fear - someone not from our circle of trust found out about us. Annoyance - he may not believe this story, he thinks I'm lying and that's just stupied excuses. Relief - perhaps, deep down, he hoped that it wasn't me who wrote it, and now that he heard about it from me personally, he felt better. Hope... hope that I'm not lying.

"She read our messages. And she decided that... that our relationship was wrong."

I said the last part of the sentence as quietly as possible, as if afraid that he would take it for my words, for my thoughts.

"Do you think that I will so easily believe that she wrote it, and not you? Even if you were drunk?"

And again there was irritation in his eyes, and it was as if I had been doused with cold water. He doesn't believe. He doesn't believe me.

"Are you serious?"

He hesitated a bit, but nodded anyway. I immediately let go of his hand and looked at him with an incredulous look.

"Do you seriously think that I wrote all that?"

He nodded, this time more confidently, and it was as if something was beginning to break in me.

"So if I wrote those damned messages, then why did I try to find you? Why did I ask Dan to help contact you and find out if you're okay at all? Why did I try to catch you at the hotel? Why am I even now trying to justify myself for something I didn't do?"

I looked closely at Monegasque, but I didn't raise my voice, although inside I was just screaming from resentment and pain tearing me from the inside. I was hurt that Charles didn't want to believe me, and it hurt, because he really thinks I played with him and broke up with him. But it's not like that, damn it!

"I don't know."

Charles spoke softly and shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe you wanted to see how much you hurt me? Maybe you wanted to make sure that I was broken and that's why asked Dan to check on me? To be sure that I'm broken? And are you happy with the result? Are you finally satisfied?"

I suddenly felt that Charles was starting to break down, because his voice had become louder, as if a little more and he would break into a scream, and his eyes became full of tears. Hell, I'm ready to burst into tears myself right now because of the feelings that overwhelmed me.

"Are you happy to see me walking like a freaking zombie? Are you happy that you broke my heart? Are you happy that because of you I want to die again more than I want to live even one more day?"

Charles literally shouted out every sentence, and then he hugged himself and literally grabbed his forearms with his fingers. I wanted to hug him terribly, but as soon as I stretched out my arms to him, he immediately recoiled from me.

"Charles, I'm sorry. But know that I never meant to hurt you. And please understand that I never wrote those messages and never wanted to leave you."

"And I allowed myself to fall in love with you. My love for you was bulletproof, but you're the one who shot me."

He broke down and shouted this phrase, and I looked at him with a confused look and saw that he was barely holding back tears. Yes, I myself could barely contain the hot tear from falling down. Pierre must have heard Charles's screams, because the door opened and he and Dan entered the terrace.

"I hope you'll forgive me. I love you and I will wait for you as long as it takes."

I said it softly, although I wanted to scream, yell, howl in pain. I've never felt so bad in my life. I turned around and hurriedly left the terrace, and Dan hurried after me.

"Hey, Max, what's the matter? Did you manage to talk?"

"Just take me home."

Dan drove me home, and we didn't say a word on the way. I know that Dan is worried about me, and that he wants to know what happened, but he didn't ask any questions now, for which I am immensely grateful to him.

When I got home, I said goodbye to my friend and as soon as the door of my apartment closed behind me, I couldn't restrain myself and began to sob. I sobbed as if I was trying to get rid of all the pain that had accumulated in me with these tears.

I was angry, crushed, I was hurt, I was defeated. And I was also disappointed - in myself, in this situation, in... Charles. He didn't believe me. He didn't believe in my words. One realization that a loved one didn't believe me caused me a wave of both pain and anger, so I couldn't restrain myself and smashed vases and a floor lamp standing in the corridor.

I screamed, I wanted to smash everything that came to hand. I screamed, and hot tears were falling down from my eyes, which seemed to burn my skin. I screamed, hoping it would make me feel better.

Exhausted, I sat down on the floor and closed my eyes. Too much stress for one evening. I closed my eyes, trying to get my breathing back to normal and calm down, when I heard the trill of the doorbell.

Chapter Text

As soon as Max and Dan left the terrace, something seemed to break inside of me and I sat down on the nearest chair and burst into tears, as I had been crying recently at home. Pierre began to calm me down again, and at the same time tried to find out how everything went.

I tried to explain everything to him through tears, and he tried to make out what I was trying to say. It hurt me, because I was reliving everything I felt after receiving those messages. It hurt me that Max was here. And I was angry because he was shifting the blame to someone else again.

I somehow told everything to Pierre, and he patiently listened to me and didn't interrupt. I literally told him the whole conversation with the Dutchman word for word, including his last words before leaving.

It was only when I repeated them and fell silent that I actually seemed to understand what Max had said. He loves me. He loves me, and therefore he didn't give up his attempts to reach me. He loves me, and I, damn it, behaved like a complete ignorant jerk.

Pierre noticed that I was quiet and looked at me carefully.

"Did you finally get it?"

"Yes..."

I said uncertainly and looked at my best friend in confusion. Yes, Pierre, it finally dawned on me that I'm a real idiot.

"Then why the hell are you sitting here?"

I was silent and digested what was said. But he's right. He's damn right.

"I have to go to Max."

I got up from my chair, brushed the tears from my face with my hand, and walked quickly to the exit. Pierre quickly caught up with me and said that he would give me a ride, since in this state he wouldn't allow me to drive. He said that no one would notice the absence of the host of the party anyway, especially since he would return pretty quickly.

As we drove to the Dutchman's house, I went over in my head all the possible scenarios and Max's reaction. I tried to find the words, although I know perfectly well that once I see him, all the words will either disappear or appear unconsciously.

I was nervous as hell, and Pierre noticed it. He tried to distract me with various silly jokes while we were driving, and maybe it helped somewhere. But as soon as the Verstappen apartments appeared on the horizon, the anxiety rolled over me with renewed vigor. But I won't back down. This time I won't be a coward and I won't run away.

Arriving at Max's house, Pierre dropped me off and wished me luck. Luck will be very useful to me, my friend. We said goodbye, and I headed for the door of the Dutchman's apartment. It's so strange - no lights are on in any room. Maybe he's not here at all? Well, Charles, until you check it out, you won't know for sure.

When I got to the door, I took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell. The sound echoed through the apartment, but no one was in no hurry to open the door. I was about to press it again when I heard a commotion outside the door. So he's definitely at home.

After a couple of seconds, the door opened in front of me, and I saw Max's tired, tear-stained face. Did he cry too? Crying because of me? What an idiot I am.

He looked at me with an incredulous look, as if he couldn't believe that I really came to him. And I couldn't believe I'd made him cry.

I rushed forward and hugged Max tightly. I was afraid he would push me away, but instead I felt his strong arms wrap around my waist and hug me tightly.

Damn it, how I missed his hugs! I immediately felt so calm, as if there was no terrible anxiety at all. And I know that Max also felt easier now.

We stood and hugged each other tightly, as if we were afraid to let go, because suddenly one of us would disappear again? Suddenly, it's all an illusion of a sick brain? Or a sick heart?

"Max, I understood everything. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I love you. I...I love you."

"I'm sorry too. I love you, I love only you."

We vied with each other in whispering declarations of love, hugging each other, giving each other short, but so desirable kisses. We kissed each other and whispered excuses and confessions of feelings. We were crying again, and the hot drops made our kisses salty.

We missed each other, so as soon as we realized that here he is – a loved is so close and will not disappear anywhere, like a mirage, our eyes met, it was like the roof has blown off for both of us. We bit into each other's lips, and in this kiss we put all our accumulated feelings during the separation.

We kissed, our hands shamelessly rummaged under each other's clothes, picking and simultaneously pulling it off. My jacket, then a T-shirt, his shirt - everything was thrown off on the way to the Dutchman's bedroom. It seems that we managed to break something while moving into the cherished room. But it didn't matter. The only important thing is that here he is – my soul mate, my personal curse and my one and only lover, he is here, he is next to me, he is with me.

We lie down on the bed, and it seemed to us that we simply couldn't tear ourselves away from each other. We are too hungry for all these kisses, for all the touches, for all the caresses. There was no vulgarity or ordinary lust in it, no. It was like we were rediscovering each other. Each kiss seemed to burn the skin, and each touch was given a hundred electrical discharges.

Soon, both Max's clothes and mine were already lying on the floor. Today he was insanely gentle, as if he was afraid to hurt once again, even physically, and I even wanted him to hurt me, because I deserved it. If I hadn't been such a fool, and we would have talked when this nightmare with messages had just begun, then these weeks of suffering wouldn't have happened. But I'm too stupid and even selfish, that's why we both suffered.

But I didn't want to think about it now. All I wanted right now was Max. I wanted to feel him next to me, I wanted to feel him with every cell of my body, I wanted to feel him inside of me.

We covered each other's bodies with kisses, and this time we didn't think that someone might see the traces of our night later. Max caressed my body and whispered romantic nonsense while carefully preparing my body for further actions, and I obediently and malleably responded to all his caresses and gave my affection in return.

A push, a shout, a moan, a languid whisper, another push and another moan – gradually the whole room was filled with our mutual moans of pleasure, which were occasionally diluted with my screams of pleasure. A wet kiss, a moan, a sharp push, a scream, another push, a loud moan, a bite – yes, today we allowed each other everything, and gave ourselves to each other without a trace. I looked into the blue eyes opposite and saw everything in them: passion, love, care, and desire, and I'm sure Max sees the same in mine. Drops of sweat trickled down the strong neck of the lover, and I couldn't resist and ran my tongue along the throbbing vein in the neck, thereby licking the salty drop. His thrusts became faster and deeper, and my moans became louder and louder. Another push, a hoarse moan, a kiss sliding across the lips, a push, a push, a long moan - our eyes met, and our voices sounded in unison as we both groaned from the hurricane of feelings.

Still lying on top of me, Max pressed his wet forehead against mine. We were both breathing heavily, we were terribly hot, but neither he nor I wanted to pull away from each other.

I looked at Max, and only now noticed his barely noticeable smile. I couldn't help but smile back. Although who are you kidding, Charles? You can't hold back on anything at all when he's around.

"Ik houd van jou."

He spoke softly, barely audibly, and kissed me briefly on the lips before lying down on the bed next to me.

"I do not know what it means, but..."

"I love you."

"...repeat this phrase more often."

I smiled and reached out to the Dutchman for a kiss, and he didn't mind.

"Je t'aime, Max. Mince! Je t'aime tant."

Max at first looked at me uncomprehendingly, and then quite smiled and hugged me tightly, hugging me close to him.

"I only understood the first part, but that's enough for me."

And again a kiss - gentle and unhurried. We have nowhere to hurry, we own the night. We are together again, and this night is clearly not our last.

We lay in each other's arms for a long time, kissed and just chatted about everything in the world. It was as if we were trying to make up for everything we had missed during our breakup. But fatigue still took its toll and closer to morning we still fell asleep: I was lying on my side, and Max hugged me tightly from behind.

For some reason, I am absolutely sure that today, after a long time, I will finally sleep normally.

Chapter Text

I was finally able to rest for the night. I was able to rest, but only because Charles was sleeping next to me in bed. At first I didn't want to open my eyes for a very long time, because I was afraid that it was all just a dream and there was no Charles next to me. But he's nearby. I feel him with every cell of my body. I can feel his even breathing, which means he is sleeping peacefully. I feel that he is near, that he is with me. It's hard for me to believe it, just like the fact that this whole nightmare is over.

I don't know how long I just lay there and enjoyed the presence of my Monegasque next to me, but I would like it to last forever. I gently touched his shoulder with my lips, and he pulled it lightly. Is he still asleep or is he pretending?

I smiled and touched his neck with my lips now, to which he shivered a little and ... giggled? So the sly man is no longer sleeping. I left a couple more short kisses on his neck before he leaned back a little and looked at me with his beautiful green eyes. And how did I live these weeks without those beloved green eyes?

"Good morning, Maxie."

"Good morning, Charlie."

We both smiled and exchanged morning kisses. How I missed such morning awakenings, when next to you is not a beeping alarm clock, but a sweetly sleeping lover. I didn't want to get up anywhere, so we allowed ourselves to stay in bed and just enjoy each other's presence.

It was already nearing noon, and an empty stomach still made itself felt, so we, still in bed, ordered food with delivery. We got up only when the doorbell rang - the courier brought our order. I quickly put on the first things I came across, and Charles laughed softly, watching me awkwardly jump around the room and try to get dressed.

"You could get up and open the door yourself, you know?"

"And would deprive myself of the pleasure of watching you clumsy? Nope."

He laughed, and I threw one of the pillows at him. In general, I saw a lot of things on the floor when I walked to the door: broken vases, a lamp, Charles's clothes and mine as well. I'll have to clean up later. But that's all later.

Having accepted the order, I went to the kitchen, where I laid out our order on the table and where I called Monegasque, but I didn't get an answer. After waiting a couple of minutes, I decided to check out where Charles was.

When I entered the room, I saw my boyfriend with wet hair after a shower, standing in front of the mirror and... in my racing suit. I would never have thought that some other colors besides the already familiar red could suit him so well.

It seems that he didn't even notice my appearance in the room, so I quietly approached and hugged him from behind.

"My racing suit suits you so damn well".

Charles shuddered a little and looked at me a little excitedly through the reflection in the mirror. Somehow I had a feeling of déjà vu, as if I had once caught him looking like that in the mirror.

"I... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

"No, no, I don't mind at all."

He was already reaching for the collar to unbutton my racing gear, but I stopped him.

"I like that my clothes fit you."

Charles smiled a little sheepishly, and I rested my chin on his shoulder. Together we began to look at his reflection in the mirror, and I could see in his eyes that he liked it. But what does he like? The way he looks in my racing psuit, or the fact that it's my racing suit? That I wear on a regular basis? It's like couples like to wear each other's hoodies, only here we have a whole racing suit instead of hoodie. Still, I hope he likes the fact that these are my clothes, the ones I wear regularly.

"Leave the "Ferrari", come to us. To me."

I hugged Charles tighter and clasped my hands at the level of his stomach. He was a little confused at first, and then somehow sighed sadly.

"I can't, and you know that."

"Yes, I know all this "Il predestinato" thing. But you know that it's bullshit. You know perfectly well that with such car and the team as a whole, you will never become a world champion. So you're basically stuck there."

"Yes, I know, I know."

He nodded a couple of times and tilted his head back a little, resting his head on my shoulder.

"Well, then go ahead. Don't torture yourself, and I'll try to help you get into "Red Bull."

I briefly kissed Monegasque on the exposed part of the neck, to which he shuddered a little and smiled.

"And how do you imagine it? "Take Leclerc to the team because he suffers in "Ferrari" and in general he is my boyfriend"?"

We both laughed, and I imagined the face of Christian and Marco at that moment. Although I have already talked about this with the directors once, they even contacted Charles and invited him to negotiations, but he has not yet given a clear answer. Well, that's judging by the words of the authorities. And Sergio would hardly be happy with such a turn of events, he would then lose his place in the team.

"Yeah. Everyone knows about your suffering anyway, and Christian would love to take you to the team."

"Only I promised my godfather that I would become their champion."

"Sebastian also wanted to become their champion, but eventually left."

Charles pursed his lips and seemed to be thinking about something. I'm sure he wants to leave "Ferrari "himself, because he understands that the team is worthless now, and almost every race is a real circus. Maybe he's just afraid to admit it to himself? Or is he afraid that with such terrible indicators as he has now because of the team, others simply won't want to take him? And I'm not just talking about the current top teams.

"I still have a contract until the end of 2024."

"And then what?"

I looked at his reflection in the mirror again, and he just shrugged. I kissed him briefly on the cheek, and he smiled only with the corners of his lips. After standing a little longer in an embrace with Charles, I still pulled away, because our breakfast is getting cold in the kitchen ... although, judging by the time, it's already our lunch.

"The food is already getting cold there, so I'm waiting for you in the kitchen."

He nodded and smiled, then looked at his reflection in the mirror again, as if re-examining himself in this racing suit. I smiled and, leaving the room, said softly.

"The blue color suits you very well."

I left the room and heard Charles laugh softly. Well, am I wrong? Everything suits him, including my blue suit.

About ten minutes later, Charles came into the kitchen, and I almost choked on the coffee I had just drunk. He was back in my clothes, but not in racing clothes, but in home clothes. He and I have a pretty similar body build, so it's not surprising that my clothes are almost just right for him.

Smiling, he calmly walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table opposite me. He took a still-warm waffle from the plate and took a small bite. Apparently, he noticed my gaze on him, because he stopped chewing and said with a smile:

"Yes, yes, I know. I needed clean clothes, so I borrowed yours. But if you mind, I can take them off right now."

He grabbed the edges of the T-shirt and pulled them up.

"No!"

I shouted and jumped up from my seat, to which Charles looked at me a little surprised, but more smug.

"Don't take it off, I don't mind at all."

He hesitated a bit, but still straightened T-shirt, shrugged his shoulders and resumed his brunch. If he were to arrange a kind of striptease here now, I would hardly be able to resist and not overwhelm him right on the dining table. And then all the food and clothes would fly to the floor, we would both be sticky with waffle cream, his skin would be so sweet and seducting, and moans would echo off the tiled walls...

"Ma-a-ax? Are you here? Maxie?"

Charles snapped his fingers in front of my nose, and I shook my head and seemed to return to the real world. Apparently, I was dreaming too much about "kitchen fun".

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry. Just thinking."

I waved my hand and smiled, while Charles was already finishing his waffle with cream and strawberry slices.

"What were you thinking about?"

About how I would overwhelm you right here and now, how I would make you moan with pleasure and scream my name. But I can't answer him like that. Or can I?

"Duh, it's just that I'm glad you're here."

I smiled, and Charles smiled back and took a small sip of coffee. I have a feeling that he hasn't been eating normally for a long time, because I have never seen anyone with such an appetite to eat waffles, especially in the morning.

We spent the day at my house, because we had a lot to talk about. We discussed everything that happened during our "summer break", which was more like torture for both of us. He told me how he spent his time, and I told him about mine. What to say? Judging by the photos on the web, the "vacation" for both of us went very well, but after all, who knows what is really hidden behind the frames of "happy life", right?

After eating and chatting, we decided to clean up a bit - yesterday when I was alone, and then together we managed to ... make a little mess. And if, looking at the broken lamp, I remembered my breakdown, then looking at the fragments of the black and gold vase, I remembered how we "reconciled" with Charles. I don't even want to throw away its fragments now.

In the late afternoon, Charles and I sat on a large sofa in front of the TV and watched various films - some comedies, silly romantic films and dramas. We laughed from the last, because we ourselves had just recently been the heroes of some strange and exausting drama.

Although, to be honest, it is unlikely that our activity on the couch could be called as "watching movies", because we spent most of the time either snuggling or kissing. So if I was asked about the plot of at least one of the films, I would hardly be able to tell it.

Unfortunately, Charles had to go home and he refused to spend the night at my place. He would gladly stay, but the beginning of the second half of the racing season is approaching, so the teams are already starting to gather for interviews and training, and a work plan has already been drawn up for both of us.

"Text me when you're home, okay?"

"Are you afraid that I won't get there?"

"Actually, I care about you."

"Actually, I know."

We laughed softly, and Charles kissed me briefly goodbye. His taxi had already arrived, so I handed him my bag with his things inside, we said goodbye, he left my house and got into a taxi. We nodded to each other, and he drove away.

The house suddenly became so quiet without Monegasque. He just left, and I already miss him terribly. I sighed and sat down on the sofa, in the place where Charles had been sitting not so long ago. I clicked aimlessly on the channels, occasionally lingering on one of them, and periodically glanced at my phone. There was no message. For some reason, I even started to worry.

Some more time passed and the screen of my phone finally lit up, thereby notifying me of an incoming message. I immediately picked it up and opened it.

Charles:

"Don't worry, I got home safe and sound."

I immediately felt much calmer. I smiled and quickly wrote back.

Me:

"Okay, otherwise I was already starting to worry :)"

Charles:

"I'll take a shower, and then I'll go straight to bed, because I have to get up early tomorrow, so good night in advance, Maxie."

Good idea, by the way. I also need to take a shower and go to bed, otherwise Christian is unlikely to be happy about me being late on the first working day after my vacation. I quickly wrote back to Charles and also wished him good night, and then took a shower and went to bed.

But before I fell asleep, I picked up the phone and sent Charles the last message for today.

I:

"Ik houd van jou💙"

Charles:

"Je t'aime❤️"

I smiled at my lover's message, then put the phone away on the bedside table, lay down comfortably and soon fell into a sweet sleep.

Chapter Text

The "summer break" ended and the working days on the tracks began again. The first Grand Prix in line is a "home" race for Max, namely the Dutch GP. There is always a special atmosphere at home Grands Prix, because there are lots of fans supporting you everywhere, and it is always more pleasant and comfortable to drive in the "native walls". Although how should I know? My "home" Grand Prix always came out disasterous: sixth place, then fourth, then DNF. So I don't really like to think about my racing adventures in Monaco.

But now we are in the Netherlands, and there are no reasons for joy in the past sessions of races: car failures, the weather doesn't please, and Dan got into an accident with Piastri and eventually dropped out indefinitely, because he got a fracture. He was hurt, but he did the right thing: he could either crash into Oscar, and then both would definitely get injured, or into the wall and take the whole blow on himself. He chose the latter and paid for it. I sometimes think that Dan and I are very similar, because we both trying to do what we can on the track, but nothing good comes out of it.

So today, something unimaginable was happening at the qualification: at first the weather conditions are disgusting, then the fines comes one after another, then the usual race leaders suddenly began to drop lower and lower in the scoring table. All by the leaders, except, of course, Max. "Williams" on their slowest and weakest cars easy bypassed others. As a result, Alex starts from the fourth position, and Logan from the tenth, and then only because he had an accident on the third lap of qualifying. Just like me. I also had an accident, or rather I flew into the fence at speed, but to be honest, I didn't care so much that I didn't even have the strength to be angry.

Therefore, I just sat on a folding chair outside the track until the end of the race, and watched how qualifying was going on without me. I even felt for a second like Fernando at the Brazilian Grand Prix in 2015, when he also got off the track and was sunbathing sitting on a chair. I would also sunbathe, but the weather clearly won't allow it, and I doubt that I need any sunbathing any soon. I'm already almost in the same tone as the racing suit.

As a result of qualifying, I took the ninth position, and Logan the tenth, since he got off the track before me. But everyone was shocked because of the result of the "Williams" team, because they hadn't entered the third round of qualifying in both cars for a very long time, and Russell from Mercedes took the third position, which was also not observed for a long time. I am glad that at least my teammate, Carlos, took the sixth place. At least he got to the finish line, huh.

Max is on the first place. Of course, I was envious, but on the other hand, I understand perfectly well that I can only dream of winning prizes on shitboxes like ours, and in my case, getting to the finish line would already be an outstanding achievement.

After qualifying, the teams went to the pits to discuss the strategy for the upcoming race, and I felt like a dummy - I just nodded at all the suggestions of strategists and mechanics. Honestly, I didn't care what and how they would decide there, because tomorrow there will be a race, which means that we'll see nothing but another circus performance from them.

As soon as we were all released, I went to my cooling room to change clothes and finally go to the hotel and relax. Still, it wasn't very easy to drive in such conditions, especially after a vacation.

Max and I exchanged a couple of messages before leaving the race center. Max spends the night at home, because this is his home race after all, and I'm at the hotel. He offered to spend the night with him, but after discussing everything, we still decided that it was better for us not to meet today, since both felt like squeezed lemons, and in order to show at least something on the track tomorrow, we both need a full rest. But we agreed to call on "Facetime" to at least spend a little time together.

Arriving at the hotel, I immediately went to the shower - I want to wash off this day as soon as possible, along with all the wild things that happened to me. Hot drops of water relax just fine, but Max's embrace relaxed much more. But today we will have to be content with what we have.

After taking a shower, changing clothes, and then having dinner in the room, I wrote a message to Max - I had to find out when he would be able to get in touch.

Me:

"Max Emilian Verstappen, when will you be available for a video call? :)"

How official. Yes, Charles, now he will think that he has done something wrong again and will start going crazy, and you both have only recently reconciled. You don't spare your lover's nerves, you don't spare them at all.

I laughed softly, imagining how Max could start to panic now, because when you are addressed by your full name, it's always a bad sign. It's been less than a minute since I got an answer.

Max:

"I do not know what I did wrong, but I'm sorry!"

"Oh, the message was sent."

"You didn't block me?"

"It's not that bad??"

I suddenly felt so funny when I began to receive panicky messages from Max one after another.

I:

"Calm down, I just like to keep you in tense :)"

Max:

"And I like how you know how to relieve this tension from me ;)"

I choked on air when I opened this message from Max. Moments immediately began to pop up in my memory of how, in the pauses between the third session of free races and qualifying, Max and I retired to a small back room of the center. There is one big plus in racing suits - if you really want, you can remove it very quickly and easily. And we both had a great desire, and the risk of being caught by one of the employees turned us both on even more.

Maybe it was because of what happened in the back room that I then reacted so calmly to the accident during qualifying? Maybe that's the reason.

I don't know if anyone noticed a strange rummaging in the back room, or if someone heard our moans, but at that moment we both didn't give a damn about it.

I was distracted from bright and hot memories by the signal of an incoming "Facetime" call. Apparently, I didn't answer for too long, and Max decided to call himself. Without thinking twice, I pressed the "Answer" button and an image of Max appeared on the screen.

"Where have you disappeared?"

"Me? Just remembered something."

"Pleasant?"

Max smiled slyly, he knows exactly what I thought after his message.

"Very much."

We both laughed, and then we began to discuss what had happened during the day: the races, the qualification, and the descents from the track, and most importantly, Dan's injury. While I was chatting with Max, I asked him to write to Ricciardo and find out how he was doing. They are best friends, so he will obviously take a message from Max better than from me.

"Charlie, do you mind if Dan joins us here?"

Max looked at me with eyes exactly like cat from "Schrek" has. Well, how can I refuse him? And I have a good relationship with Dan... unless, of course, he's mad at me because of the vase.

"Yes, of course. I'll be glad."

And I didn't lie. I really would be glad if he would join our call. After a short time, an Australian joined our video call. He looked, of course, not bad, but you can see from his eyes that besides the fact that he was upset by what had happened, the painkillers dulled the physical pain not so well.

"Dan, hi! How are you, mate?"

I tried to look and sound as friendly as possible, although I don't know how he will perceive me now, after that stupid scene at my house.

"Hi, lovers! Well, have you already reconciled passionately?"

He laughed, and Max and I blushed noticeably. Still, straightforwardness is Dan's main trait.

"Yes, yes, and more than once."

"Max!"

Max looked completely innocent, and then we all laughed.

"You still haven't answered the question. How are you there? How's the arm?"

Dan showed his plastered hand to the camera phone.

"Well, the arm is fine, but it hurts like a hell. Probably, they will insert some metal implants here, so... I will become something like a wolverine."

He laughed stiffly, and Max and I vied with each other to talk and wave to him so that he wouldn't swing his injured arm like that.

We chatted and joked for a while, tried not to touch on the topic of the past races and generally distracted the Australian as much as we could. At some point, Dan began his favorite interrogation and began asking Max and me about how we reconciled and how our relationship is developing now. Of course, we didn't tell him all the details of our "reconciliation", it would have been too much, but we told him everything in general terms.

"By the way, I have a question here."

Max and I looked at Daniel with interest, and he was sitting with an extremely serious look.

"What question?"

"Go ahead."

Dan cleared his throat, and then said in all seriousness:

"What should I call you now? Max and Charles Verstappen or Max and Charles Leclerc?"

At first I didn't understand anything, and then Max laughed, and I followed him. Damn, has Dan already managed to get us married?

"I'm waiting for an answer."

Max and I hesitated with the answer, and then said at the same time.

"Leclerc."

"Verstappen."

Dan burst out laughing, and Max and I stared at each other through the phone screen.

"What do you mean "Vershtappen"? Who even said that I want a Dutch surname?"

"And who said that I want French... Monegasque?"

"Do you know my full name? How do you think it will sound if I change my last name to Verstappen?"

"It will sound awesome, so it's decided."

"Charles Marc Hervé Percival Verstappen? Max, did you hit your head? That's how the consequences of your accident are showing, right?"

"It sounds many times more beautiful than Max Emilian Leclerc."

"Now that sounds much better! So don't..."

"Okay, okay, lovers. Lovers' quarrels are soon mended."

Dan interrupted our little quarrel, and I suddenly realized how funny it looked from the outside. Dan and I laughed, and Max sat with an extremely serious expression on his face, as if the question of his future surname was actually being decided now. But soon Max realized that he had taken everything too much to heart, as he laughed, and his phone slapped the screen on the table.

"Look, even Max's phone couldn't stand your quarrel."

Then the Dutchman's phone returned to the horizontal position and Max returned to the conversation. We chatted about all sorts of nonsense for some time, and Dan periodically teased us with ambiguous phrases.

Soon Dan said that he was tired and that it was time for him to go to bed, since in the morning he would fly to Barcelona for surgery. The flight and the doctor's appointment would be very early, so he wanted to get some rest before tomorrow. Of course, we didn't detain him and, wishing him a speedy recovery and good night, disconnected Dan from our video call.

Max and I chatted for another half hour, and then we also said goodbye and went to bed. Although we didn't want to part even for the night, but no one canceled the race, so we both need a rest no less than Dan.

I dropped the call and went to change into my pajamas. Although it's quite warm now, but it's somehow uncomfortable for me to sleep without pajamas. And I can only sleep without clothes in one case - if Max is sleeping next to me. However, Max removes my clothes in bed, and even after that we don't sleep, but rather "stay awake" almost until the early morning. Okay, Charles, calm down and go to bed.

While I was changing and getting into bed, a message came to my phone. And I don't have to guess to figure out who it's from. I got into bed, picked up the phone and opened the incoming message.

Max:

"What about Lestappen? Part of your last name, part of mine - everything is taken into account and everyone is happy. It's a win-win."

I laughed softly after reading the message. "Lestappen"? Wasn't it the name of our couple on the Internet? And that sounds, actually, not bad.

Me:

"Is that how you're proposing to me now? :)"

Max didn't answer right away. Maybe I said too much? Damn, Charles, you're rushing things again. And now he may block you, as you did to Max recently.

Max:

"Not yet. But I just want to look for options of the surname just in case ;)"

Now I'm shocked. "Not yet," well, well. Although who knows what to expect from our couple in the future?

I:

"There's still time, but in the meantime we are going to bed. Good night, Maxie."

Max:

"Good night, Charlie."

We exchanged the last messages, then I returned the phone to the bedside table and was about to get comfortable for sleeping when two consecutive alerts came to the phone. I picked up the phone again to read what they wrote to me there.

Max:

"I forgot to tell you."

"Ik houd van jou💙"

I smiled when I read the messages and immediately typed a reply.

Me:

"Je t'aime, Max❤️"

Now I can definitely lie down and sleep peacefully. Healthy sleep again without the help of any sleeping pills. Good night, Charles.

Chapter Text

After the race, the team staged another celebration - another victory, and I equaled Sebastian Vettel's record. So there are two reasons to celebrate. We are celebrating, but the "Ferraris" have disgraced themselves again, although this is already an invariable classic.

I'm terribly sorry for Charles and Carlos, because with such a team they really won't achieve anything special either in the construction competition, and even more so in the personal one. During the races, it already starts to bother me every time I find out that Charles contacted his mechanics on the radio. Why? Yes, because it never does any good. The pit stop lasts forever, the tires are not ready for the arrival of the pilot, but there are still a thousand and one reasons to spoil the race.

In general, the race itself in the Netherlands was a real chaos – because of the weather, pit stops were one after another, there were accidents and collisions again, as a result of which four cars came off the track with DNF status, and yes, Charles was in one of them. Because of the red flags, the race was interrupted, but the height of stupidity was near the end of the race, when there were only 7 laps left, 2 of which we had to go behind the safety car. Why was it necessary? Yes, the weather was disgusting, but so long as the rain didn't start again, would it be possible to give a start? Moreover, the entire track had been put in order by that time after Zhou's accident. By the way, I heard that he crashed into the wall to a force of 19G. This, of course, does not compare with my 51G, but he will definitely have a headache in the morning.

Pierre, by the way, took third place in the Grand Prix, but it happened only thanks to Perez's five-second penalty. Fernando was on the second place, which is not surprising, given his pace during the race.

By the way, it was the debut Grand Prix for Liam Lawson. Well, I sympathize with the guy – to make his debut in such conditions can hardly be considered a real success. But he did well – even under such circumstances, he took 13th place.

Whatever it was, but the race was over and everything was going according to the rules again: weighing, interview, a little rest, photographing, awarding and everything according to the list. Then the teams went to the pits, where they already agreed on plans for the evening – who would celebrate, and who would go to rest and prepare for the next Grand Prix.

While there was a fuss around, I went up to Christian and warned him that I was going to change, because it was too hot in a racing jumpsuit. It wasn't a good excuse, but it worked, so I changed my clothes, and then I left my cooling room and went towards Charles' room.

I wanted to talk to him for at least a couple of minutes. I don't want to repeat the story that happened after my victory in Belgium.

But we didn't have to go far - we literally crashed into each other around the next corner. We were both wearing caps, so when we collided, we both got hit by our cap visors as well. "Feels like a car whose bumper was hit by a car in the oncoming lane" - I suddenly thought and laughed.

"Be careful, one collision was enough for me."

"Well, I'm sorry, I didn't notice you because of halo."

I pointed to the visor and we laughed. It was nice to hear him laugh, even though his race was disgusting. But I'm still glad he didn't go limp because of it.

"I was just coming to you, I wanted to cheer you up and yada-yada."

"Relax, I'm already used to it."

Charles waved his hand, pretending that he didn't care about the outcome of the race, but I feel that this is not the case. He's worried, he's just trying not to show it.

"By the way, I wanted to tell you..."

"Just look at that! Did "Charlie" really come to congratulate the future three-time world champion on another victory?"

My "girlfriend" came up to us, and I just rolled my eyes and sighed. Well, who asked her to come here?

"Rather call the Spanish Inquisition, a witch has appeared here."

Charles said with a grin, and I barely restrained myself from bursting out laughing because of the expression on the girl's face. If Dan were here, he'd be laughing now.

"Hold your tongue, because I am aware of your secret."

She came up to me and hugged my hand, but I got out of her arms pretty quickly. I didn't like such attention from her, especially since she knows it perfectly well.

"And what do you mean by that?"

I looked at the girl, and she, making a completely innocent look, said in a calm tone.

"The fact that if you continue to see each other, reporters may "accidentally" find out about your secret."

I rolled my eyes again, and Charles seemed to be getting a little angry. It is necessary to closely look at him in order not to allow the conflict to escalate.

"And what is the benefit to you from this? I don't have a relationship with you anyway, we're a beautiful couple just for the paparazzi. What do you care who I sleep with?"

I looked at the girl and raised an eyebrow questioningly, and she tilted her head to the side, as if choosing words for the next phrase.

"Benefit? I just don't want everyone to know that my boyfriend is messing around with some loser. That's why I don't want you to meet, otherwise you'll suddenly get caught together, and then what? I don't want to be humiliated once again."

"You could already be used to it, that's for sure."

Charles grinned and folded his arms across his chest. It's good that he knows how to restrain emotions at the right moment.

"Did you say something?"

I wanted to stand up for Charles, but he apparently decided to enter his villain era, if I may say so.

"I said, what would be better: you will reveal to the whole world that two famous racers are in a romantic relationship, and you will be that pathetic girl that your boyfriend dumped for another guy? Like you're so pathetic, that even depressed Monegasque is way better than you."

Charles said this in a completely calm tone, although I can feel how tense he is inside. The girl, apparently, did not expect that Monegasque would decide to fight back, because he always seems so soft, so his answer clearly took her by surprise.

"Well? Or will you shut the fuck up, and you don't get to make demands. So everything remains the same,  no one will know anything about us and everyone will be happy? No one will humiliate you, and we will live our lives in peace."

I've never seen Charles so... bitchy? And, damn it, I like him that way even more. I remember when he contradicted my father in the room, but then he was more angry, and here he is annoyed. And this very irritability makes him even hotter. Well, for me. Stop! Is it just me, or have I started thinking about Charles too often in some vulgar ways?

"I'll think about it."

"Good luck with that."

The girl chuckled and, turning on her heels, went towards the boxes, where the whole team was preparing for the celebration.

I couldn't resist just applause to Charles. He didn't understand the reason for the ovation, but then he laughed softly.

"Thank you, thank you, it's not worth applauding."

"No, it is, of course!"

We laughed and exchanged a couple of phrases: I briefly told him about the team's plans, which I can't miss, because "if it wasn't for you, there wouldn't be a celebration," and he said that he was flying to Monaco late in the evening to rest there for a day and start preparing for the Grand Prix in Monza.

Before we went our separate ways, I looked around and briefly kissed Monegasque on the lips. He was surprised by my gesture, because after all we are in a public place, but he was pleasantly surprised.

"I love you."

"And I love you."

We spoke softly and went to our respective boxes. I wish I could take Charles with me to this holiday and spend the whole evening with him, but the reality is that this is impossible.

In the evening, after the whole celebration, we corresponded with Charles, but not for long - whatever it was, but the day was long and hard for both. So after wishing each other good night and sending our traditional hearts, we both put down our phones and fell asleep.

For some reason, I am sure that everything will be fine with us now.

Chapter Text

How our life turned out further?

Everything was as before: we raced at the Grand Prix, celebrated victories and were sad because of failures, spent time "with the second halves", gave interviews and generally lived the ordinary life of "Formula 1" pilots. Someone might call it a very boring life, because our days, apart from rest, were not particularly different from each other. But what can we do? This is the life of many celebrities, especially athletes.

What about our relationship? We're happily dating, and our relationship only gets stronger day by day. We don't have serious fights, and even when we do, we solve them in a way that is already familiar to us – talking and then kissing.

We keep in touch every day - if it isn't possible to communicate live, then we communicate by phone. Messages, calls, video calls - it has already become so common for us that it's even surprising how we used to live without it. It seems to me, or is that how people become addicted to gadgets?

Our friends, those who know about our relationship, support us in every way. Dan still teases us and, when no one is around, calls us "loverboys". I swear I'll never get used to that word.

Pierre, though isn't against our relationship, but still treats it with some caution. Although I wouldn't say that it's caution, but rather hyperprotection. Yes, many people can only dream of such a friend as Pierre, because he is really ready to break his neck for his best friend.

Carlos began to react less emotionally to our relationship, although at first it was difficult for him to handle his hot Spanish temper. Although, what could you expect from a man who himself has been head over heels in love with a Brit for several years?

Speaking of the Brit. Lando once opened up and told us that he likes Carlos, and he has liked him for a long time - since the days of their joint work at "McLaren". We advised him to just take the first step, otherwise they would just waste a lot of time. We wouldn't have advised him to do this if we didn't know for sure that the feelings of this duo are mutual. So it remains only to wait for which of them will make the first step.

We even made a bet: one of us bet on Carlos, the other on Norris. And for some reason it seems to me that the one who bet on the Lando will win. But just in any case, none of us will be surprised if soon another secret relationship will appear in our peloton - Carlando.

So, life goes on, friendship doesn't rust, and love only grows stronger, because it's impossible to exist without love in our world, because even paradise without love is called hell.

XOXO,
Max and Charles Lestappen